To where I am sailing, I do not know. Hope exists that when destination is reached, a sign will appear all aglow.

The eyethirl through which I see the resting place often lies between translucent and opaque, leaving try this and try that as the only options to make.

Would an ocellated guide lead to the proper place or are look-heres and look-theres just arrows for another person’s race?

Waves crash and bash my vessel. As forces decimate, wonder ponders: would the correct path smooth sail the all through way or could the darkest happen right before the break of day?

Land within hand, how does heart express its jubilation? A skolion or hymn or praise? A dance or jump or craze? Perhaps, silent thanks in a misty gaze.

If the harbour on which dreams long to alight might not be as bright or sure, may fate tingle the heart at the right moment and may spirit remain unwavered through all it must endure. : )