Tis not the calm bright day that tests our grit
Nor guarded safe repose within our lair.
No test is it to keep a candle lit,
When winds are still and placid skies are fair.
Within the tossing tumult of a storm,
No way to steer and know where we are bound,
Where all around a knurling evil swarms,
It's there our own true inner peace is found.
So many of our demons we invent.
They circle waiting for our faith to fail.
We have within the spirit to prevent,
So even in our death we will prevail.
There in the midst of all we are set free,
To want, to love, to strive, or just to be.
Inspired By Winslow Homer's painting "The Gulf Stream"