The Tempest

This Louis Ting sonnet was found by the crew of The Melissa-Lynn, a fishing trawler in the North Atlantic. Ironically, they found the poem in a bottle on one of the calmest days of the year, but on the next day, one of the most dangerous storms in recent history blew up, and the crew read this poem over and over as the eighty foot trawler was tossed about like a bath toy before sinking, taking the poem and all souls aboard with her.

The Tempest

Crashing, howling sounds of thunder,
the quiet creaking the most frightening of all,
rising high on the crest of another,
holding my breath for the next sudden fall.
Clinging tight to that which rocks and tosses,
I have no grip on anything at all,
and the ocean will claim all of my losses,
and the wind will be all that’s left of my call.
It’s the calm and stillness of the highest shelf,
more unsettling than the next crashing fall,
at the bottom, I make peace with God and self,
when I don’t know if I’ll climb back up at all.
And when it’s over, and all that’s left is the calm,
I’m left with the horizon of time’s endless palm.


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