Plain Sailing my Friend

The soft east wind seems gone from his sails. Its as if he’s been cast off, like an ice flow on ozone, severed, set adrift…and with all those people too, eagerly watching his fading, frigid, impotent white trail, whispering…sharp pointing fingers, blameless.

They say its a shame, such a nice young man, quick to laugh, eager to help, and now…just dissolving…like a salt lick. I heard someone say, ‘but that’s what you get when the world takes over, when you lose your sight, when he lost his way’. And another added, ‘when the night folds in’, and still another ‘like when the street turns its back’…‘like an olive seed with no real need for roots’.

If I were him I’d find a hill, no, a courageous mountain, one that catches the first dawn light, and shout fearlessly into our galaxy’s void…watching my back for dark night carrion and bury deep there my terrors, false idols, monkey masks and terra cotta warriors.

Plain sailing my friend. God’s speed.

Plain Sailing my Friend

Robert Knapman

Adelaide, Australia

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Artist's Description

To the horizons in us all.

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