The small dinghy drifts
on the surface of the sea
its grayed gunnels, hull
and vacant crossbars
betray its age
but its persistent float
speaks its worth.

Without a bold goal
its life at the mercy of currents and winds
it drifts
but still it floats.

It would be easy to feel pity
for this tiny rudderless vessel
to condemn it to the depths
for its aimless oblivious
drift.

But this modest creation
a dinky dinghy
still floats
rises, falls, bobs,
and wobbles
a survivor of sojourns
she remains

a mocking
clocking
launch
of hope.

12/11/2018

Author's Note: It seems much of my day I spend drifting away from being present to God and my ideals, but this morning (the day after posting this poem)as I journaled about it I realized that as long as I am acting out of love and creativity, I am present to the almighty.

Posted on 12/11/2018
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