She Waits

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A ship is in the harbor,
connected to a dock by a rope,
her sympathetic jailer,
and she is
Resting,
Floating,
Undergoing
Repairs.

She longs for open sea.
But,
Her sails, tattered,
Can no longer partner with the wind.

She longs to watch the sun slip below a shimmering horizon.
For careless, heartless?
waves that toss…
For nights on glassy surface
beneath blackened sky
dotted with pinpricks of starlight.

She longs to feel wind in her canvas,
Ocean spray against hull,
Salt crystalized upon her deck
Crunching beneath sailor’s footstep…

But to venture out to sea would risk her passengers
Who cling to her for safety.

She knows this;
That her purpose is to preserve the lives that take refuge in her during storm,
and delight in her during calm.

If she broke free from her bonds, it would put her wards at risk.

Would she betray her own soul by recklessly pursuing open water?
Throwing off restraint?
Rejecting the very purpose for which she was created?

She will not pervert the reason for her existence.

And so
She waits.

She allows the sympathetic captor to hold her back from sailing.

The rope
hears her cry,
and whispers promises of tomorrow to her.
It comforts her.
While she waits.

While she yields herself to repair.
And waits.

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