Storm

The ship has tilted treacherously to the side,
And masts are creaking loudly, keels rise high,
The captain's wheel is spinning out of hand
As the horizon draws a line of slanted land.
And yet there is no storm. No raging waves,
No drifting tides that beat the shore's caves,
The air is still, the ocean-calm, azure the sky,
As winds are mild clouds float idly by.
And glistening the sun rolls rays of light
For birds that soar high in boundless flight.

It is that storm we feel but cannot see
That renders us a captive while it rages free.