my frail ambitions toss and churn

atop the roiling sea;

the salty unkempt waves all yearn

to crush them ruthlessly.

a quick glance down reveals below,

this wicked, hellish frenzy;

and as I stare, the dangerous flow

engulfs me, swift and noisy.

dark waters fill my lungs and spirit,

alone, I’m overcome;

until a figure, calm and quiet,

strides o’er the waters fearsome.

“be still,” He cried, and so the storm

reluctantly complied;

I grasped His hand, by Grace transformed,

for Death He has denied.