The Calming of the Storm

Their sea-stained faces
Weathered and worn, 
Salt caught in the creases
From the spray of the storm—

Their red, calloused hands
Grasp the edge of the boat,
As the wind rips and howls,
Their vessel stays barely afloat. 

Each man grasps a line,
From a violent fear of the sea,
Afraid they’ll be claimed by the waters,
That they will never be freed.

Some cry to heaven
In voices as raw as their skin,
And yet as they maneuver the waves
Someone stirs from within.

Then one man emerges:
Calm, without fright,
Smiling softly at the rain, 

Clothed in robes of pure white.

The boat nearly gone under,
The men drenched and cold,
They call to the figure

In an angry revolt:

“Master, we perish!
Where hast thou been?
Thou hast left us alone,
To drown in our sins.” 

The answer came quickly,

quiet but strong:

"I have always protected thee

and have led thee along."

"Where is thy faith?

Oh, my dear friends,

I will stay by thy side

To the bitter-cold end."

With a hand outstretched

He commanded the sea

To be calm, to be silent,

To be completely at ease.

The waters now still,
Waves lapping the boat,
The sailors kneel down,
Words caught in their throats.