The Ocean's Sigh

I saw a storm from far off billowy
Cape Cod; what a cod am I to have staid
When I should have run from the rising sea!
But trusting the sea's gentle replies made
Soft from the wonder I beheld in my
Eyes, I became despondent to the signs.
Then a cold wind blew down my spine, a sigh
Did escape my lips, my body pines
Of confusion did announce to my soul,
That fast approaching, and out of control,
A raging beast from wondrous clouds bred,
That upon my wonder had it's fill, it's
Belly from the time elapsed was so fed
By my gaze that I had not realized
What it was until to late! Now water
Drenches my socks, flesh, and bone; so despised
By the storms relentless strike on the shore
Was I in that moment, cut off from land,
No one nearby to lend a helping hand.

Yet in the storm was a calm, in my heart...
Somehow the billowing winds did not start
Within me a chain of anxieties...
Did not strip me of my senses. I freeze
At the touch of cold, and my body winces
From the onslaught of the windy currents
Of air that stream past my tawny drenched hair...
Yet inside there is a glow of fire,
A hunger, a new born desire...
I cannot understand it, like a dream...
That is when the wave comes, and I scream!

Wake up! Wake up! my head cries out to my
Heart so fast asleep in this room of dull
Wooden furniture and dust ridden frames!
Wake up! Wake up! Before this tide, this sigh
Of the ocean, swallows your person whole!
Wake up! Wake up! At you the ocean aims!

But I did not wake up, not at first, no...
Rather I felt in my heart what I owed.
You'll think it strange for me to say this, friend...
But I think that I was looking on my end.
And this I wanted to accept freely,
To accept it as a gift from my God.
Not caring about the storms, or the sea,
Nor the windy currents that did applaud.
Thus standing there as the wave did strike,
I heard a voice, in my heart if you like...
"I thirst for souls that are honest and true...
                 I thirst for souls, I thirst for you.
I thirst for souls that will accept my love...
I thirst for souls, will you accept my glove?
                And the hand that gives it frame?
Not the love of the world, but of my name?
Not of vocation particular,
But a love of me in the midst of sure
Death from the hand of your foes, even friends,
In the midst of life, wherein my love wends.
Will you except it? Will you endure it?
My love for you is greater than a wit
               Of acceptance you'd gain from men;
Is greater than you know, O, dear woman."

And hearing it thus, in that instant,
I did awake, this stirring infant,
I answered in haste, "yes! I will love!
I accept the hand within your glove!"

Later in life I discovered the hand
Was one of suffering a martyrs death.
Yet I know that perfection waits, a band
Of perfection, the greatest epitaph!
And so I go on, never worrying,
My anxiety rises and falls; sing
I a tune I learned long ago when young...
When I to my God did cling. I had clung
So long at the hand of my lord that I
Could not let go of it, till I should die.
And though I know not the martyrs death waits...
I know that he doth for me, at the pearly gates.

                    The Ocean's Sigh, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012