Creative Insight - Page 5

Arrgh! I’m a pirate.
I sail salty seas,

searching for ships,
at the whim of the breeze.

I ride rolling waves
up and down, night and day.

I head for the clouds.
I plunge through the spray.

Me, and my parrot,
every soul I command,

we rise and we fall
until we hit land.

I would be enthralled at the stories the ocean could tell,
about explorers and adventurers that traversed its swell,
of the lives lost in shipwrecks and of pirate tales of old,
and legends passed down through generations, told.

The ocean is mysterious, enchanting us all,
and contains many strange creatures both large and small,
a vast body of water, we challenge with our might,
sail our boats across, battle it by day and by night.

It changes character, furious brooding one minute,
next it is calm and serene, then we can overcome and win it!
But when I see its rolling, crashing waves,
I am glad I am on terra firma, as it's stability I crave!

He ascended those stairs that day, why he did, he could not say.
But reached for that old dusty knob of his attic door insight.
A turn to the knob so gently,
Cautiously he made his entry, entry into the attic that night.

Among cobwebs, dust and in much wonder, a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder,
He lit a small candle to see a bag within his sight.
Inside a dark brown leather sack
Did he find a box so black, as black as it is at midnight.

His soul jumped, and it was frightening, while he gazed in awe during the lightning.
For in his hands was a black box containing his soul that night.
It was black as the midnight sea,
At his feet he found a key, a key to the box of fright.

In a cold sweat, and with a shudder, he turned the box during the thunder.
He pushed in the key and tried to turn, but the lock was too tight.
But as determined as he would,
He turned as hard as he could, he could with all his might.

He knows he is the key that unlocks his soul that resides in the black box.
Amid the lightning he saw his soul was full of sin that night.
The box full of sins he did,
It was filled up to the lid, the lid of the box that night.

So he took paper and found a pen, and recorded the sins he did often.
Tears in his eyes and sorrow in heart he began to write.
I'm sorry for what I have done,
I never meant to hurt anyone, anyone I have hurt any night.

So among the lightning and what wrote, he opened the box and slipped in the note.
For remission of his sins is what he clearly had insight.
And then he laid his head to rest,
For he knew forgiveness was best, best on this thunderous night.

And in the morning they found a dead man, with a note and a pen by his hand.
And on the note was written a poem that previous night.
"My heart is the key which unlocks
The deep dark secrets of my box, a box no longer black, but white."

It’s hard to listen,
hard to stop thinking
about what I want to say,
hard to stop searching
for a place to break in,
hard to give all my attention,
but when I listen,
really listen,
I hear what you are saying,
I see your point of view—
your words become
a billowing ribbon
connecting me to you.