No Title

Waking up, or maybe now asleep?
Not sure which, loathing the truth.
A sudden storm on a sunny day.
Swirling, swirling, swirling.
With a lone mariner finding his way.

Not sure if it is real. Fighting as if it is.
Not sure to turn left or right or to stay the course.
Concentrating on what looks to be the shore,
But ignoring the state of his water craft.

The woodwork, warped; holes in the hull
just a general state of disrepair.
Just trying to discern and survive.

But unsure.
Unsure of the sky which served as his muse,
The night stars, the glorious moon. Even the rising sun.
But now... he cannot bring himself to look up.
To look up and see things as they were.

Not that the sky has changed, or the storm different.
Storms have come and gone; this one no different,
But... lost has the mariner admiration in the guiding star.
To the mariner, all seems jaded, all seems different.

Like waking up from a dream not quite remembered
Or in the middle of a dream like reality. Unsure.
But view of the sky, of the stars, different.
Lacking something, not sure what, perhaps the same all along.

But the Mariner doesn't see that.
Looks up briefly, sighs, and focuses again on the horizon.
Hoping, hoping the sky will regain its wonder and awe.
while fighting against the storm, sea and wind.