When Time Pulls You Along

If a man were to sail from departed port

In search of finding land for sort,

And in the journey, sail an ocean wide,

A sea sojourn from side to side,

Then he would find that halfway there,

He'd lose the scent of homeward air.

Yet soon he'd see a distant land,

And cast forward a weary but cheerful hand.

For to this point, whilst sailing strong,

The sailor was pulling time along.

Thus it would seem, that middle sea

Was difficult in itself to be.

But seeing destination near,

Clearly dispelled any such fear.

And gliding along till last-stretch swim,

Noticeably, time began to pull on him.

The sailor would indeed find it shocking,

Upon striking the sandy beach and docking,

That in the time, on the deep water spent,

His inward discovery was far more prevalent.

And though the destination was firmly set,

Getting off his boat was his one regret.

For now he knew that what he learned

Came in moments when tides had turned.

It came when rain had filled his barge

Reminding him that God's in charge.

It came from knots and crooked steering,

By wayfinding from the night-sky peering.

It came to him in times of alert,

To show how one might skillfully exert.

Therefore, the first step on white-sand grain

Was far less pleasing than the humble rain.

He would've never given second thought

Had he knew the trip was it, the land was not.

And the first sign to show that he was wrong

Was when time began to pull him along.

-Cale Kenneth Montoya (08-27-22)