When All Are Refugees
Sails drop, worthless
in this gale. Safe harbor
nowhere in sight, we drift,
helpless against the rocks strewn
by our own master, the anchor chain
wrapped round our legs.
When times are so out of joint,
there is no inner peace,
and all are outsiders.
This is my response to The Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt #178,
with the words rock, joint, inner, sight & sail.
Image source: Wikimedia Commons
Storm in the Sea, by Ludolf Bakhuizen
rivrvlogr 
A cry on the wind…is anyone listening? (It seems not) (K)
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“Anchor chain wrapped around our legs” … an apt depiction!
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“all are outsiders…”
Each of us no matter where we are.
If we could embrace each other without judgement and help heal the planet….
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Yes.
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I suppose this has always been true in some places, but it does feel like this time is “so out of joint.” I suppose more so because we get constant news, and by this time in history, many of us thought we wouldn’t be going backwards.
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