A Cork of Life

A cork bobbing on a pond? No, life is not.

To be at a loss, tossed about, subjected to

the winds and swirls of storms and tides,

is to be denied.

But at times the winds do blow, the tides

flow strong rushing us along to places not

wanted, or sights not sought to become

the end to pass there on.

Then suddenly like a climatic event,

the quiet dawns, the storm now gone,

the sun brightens the paths once traveled

on, or perhaps to lead on journey to

places not thought upon, to triumph

again the twist­ing and ebbing flows

of life's churning ways.

But what should we say cause these

turns along the journey's way? Have

we brought upon our selves disas­ters

to befall, or does the "fickle finger of fate"

play the final cards to trump us all, to

take the game, for even a pres­ent mo­ments

time, when all seems bleak and despair

rules in the air?

Passing with obscurity the de­scended

scene defines the soul, in restless wonder

or tranquil composure, only time will tell

just how in future we shall dwell.

Like the tides onward rush to ei­ther end,

no permanence to be found, are we to rise

then fall, or will we climb above it all, finding

the strength and paths to tame the rushing,

swirling, cur­rents bob­bing the cork upon the

waters, now sought to be stilled.

It is only then, when pond is qui­eted, with

currents running smooth­ly, silently, softly...

so in tandem the nature of that sought is found,

and release ap­pears, renewing the pilgrimage

once started on.

With hope now come, faith stand­ing where

despair hovered round, the spirit passes to become...

leaving cork to bobble along, tranquillity

now ruling in the air.

T.Condon, March'98