Blackwater

It's just a couple days of fun, he said,
Knowing that all his resistance was dead.
Because his task is to find his calling,
And half his soul engages in stalling,
Adventure catches on just like a fire,
Unlocking what may be his deep desire.

So packed he all the gear he might desire,
And when all his farewells were fairly said,
He drove until his pedal foot was dead,
Then drove some more, for the outdoors was calling.
And when the fading sunset ceased its stalling,
He settled down and built himself a fire.

And people gathered around that bold fire.
He saw new faces, each with the desire
To succeed in the goal each had heard said,
To live life fully before they were dead.
He wished to know them well, as they were calling
Each others' names, but he was shyly stalling.

As always, nature showed scorn on his stalling
And threw him forward as into a fire.
Events seemed ordered to grant his desire
To bond with these folks, not just through things said
But by together honoring the dead
By reliving traditions faintly calling.

So out they went and faced gravity's calling
Through waves and rocks and crests, and ever stalling
To rest and to indulge the inner fire
By diving off new heights at their desire,
And every now and then it was heard said,
After this now we surely shall be dead.

Yet all came through the fray, and none were dead,
All wiser, closer, but nature was calling:
Another challenge – this time no stalling.
The skies broke loose above their humble fire,
Together they scrambled with dry desire
To weather it, and not a word was said.

The dead fire now serves as a centerpiece,
Calling much more than any one thing said
To those stalling who still warm words desire.

-Peter Sanneman