Free

Italian Harbor with a Fortified Tower, Johannes Lingelbach, 1664

The sign says, “Coriander due to Westport."

In the hurried crowd on the dock waiting for the weather report,

I watch a man cling to his sanity with fevered breath.

He tries and tries but he can’t flatten the water’s crest.

He yearns to box up the boundless ocean,

To tame its wild waves in futile devotion.

But victory eludes his desperate grasp,

Leaving him lost in a tempestuous clasp.

He blames his luck for dragging him down,

Or a curse from a long lost lover in a forgotten town.

Yet now it's the sea's foam he accuses,

As he frantically recounts his life’s abuses.

The mothers guide their children away in disgust,

The busy ports-people shake their heads as they load a box.

The ship captains maintain a frown and a watchful eye,

“This pathetic man would be happier to just die.”

Being an outsider myself, I felt a strange empathy for the guy,

Travelers like me often are the recipient of the public’s judging eye.

Yet today this man saved me from undue scrutiny,

And afforded me the luxury to go unnoticed by the workers of the sea.

The man was certainly deranged, but some might say,

In the depths of everyone’s tumult, a touch of madness lays.

We perceive a battle of "us" against the world,

Everyone complains about their endless problems to unfurl.

But the world is a mirror, a reflection true,

For what's out there, echoes within me and you.

So as I watched the man with unease, his torment profound,

his suffering binding him, shackled and tightly wound.

I recalled, in a way, it's my own reflection I see,

So I approached him gently, pointing to the chopping sea.

Perplexed, he perversely looked at me,

A bit afraid I offered a phrase, “Let your pain be free”