The Anchor and the Gale

The tide rolls in with heavy hand, To shift the lines upon the sand. A world in flux, a shifting screen, The space between the felt and seen.

The climb is steep, the air is thin, The doubts, like shadows, creeping in. We face the “if,” we fear the “how,” Yet all we hold is here and now.

But iron is in the furnace made, And light is defined by the shade. To persevere is not to fly, But to look the storm right in the eye.

With steady heart and quiet will, The frantic world at last grows still. For though the path is often blurred, The strongest truths are rarely heard.

Stand tall within the cold and gray, And find the strength to lead the way.