I run out. This tempest is cruel and getting more spiteful by the minute.  What started as ripples surround like tidal waves, engulfing everything along its way.  I run out. 

Suddenly, my defenses turned on me.  My sails are now frayed from the howling winds.  My canons are rusted and useless. The perfectly tranquil ocean, my old friend -- the traitor.  Where have all my men gone? Where is the crew to bring down the anchor? Nay, they’re all gone. Waters rush in unwelcome.  They flood inside as I empty my vessel with just a bucket and my own two hands. But oh heart, it’s weary.  The darkness blinds me.  The downpour hides the surge of tears.  And the lighthouse is far from near.

My ship is plummeting down the spiral.  Like in a drain I see myself submerge. And as my everything runs out, I go deaf and defenseless to the trouncing and thrashing.  And as I close my eyes to accept this doom, a hand rests upon my shoulder.

Security.

Ever so gently amidst the storm, he carries my almost lifeless body.

Oh the sturdy arms that wrap around me! 

I can hear his heartbeat, calm and steady with a consistent thump that does not skip a beat.

I can feel his warmth surrounding even when all is wet and cold.

I can feel his grip secure yet tender, impervious to the raging sea.

I feel far above the ground, how tall must he be?

Yet as I try to get a glimpse of his face, my eyes, they hurt in His glory

He walked and stopped before the hand wheel, there I realize my identity

I hear His voice, the placid tone, whispering ever so quietly

That I am the crewman and He, my captain  

Is greater than the waves of the sea.

Though my sails are tattered and the fabric’s torn

Like the cry of mortality

I am the crewman and He, my captain

Hath not departed me.