The little boat set out on a journey one day.
Her sails were white and pristine.
She gracefully glided along the way
in waters so calm and serene.
Peaceful and pleasant the weather did seem,
with scarcely a cloud in the sky.
The sleek skiff floated by like a dream;
a picturesque sight for the eye.
But the perfect clime began to shift
with a storm quickly approaching.
The unfortunate vessel began to drift
toward billows upon her encroaching.
The heavens grew dark. Strong wind did increase.
She helplessly tossed about.
It didn't appear that the squall would soon cease.
The small craft was in trouble, no doubt.
Fine sails that once were so white;
gustly gales made them torn and tattered.
Her frame was a terrible sight,
by the elements buffeted, battered.
How long could the little boat last
with such wretched weather condition?
A somber gloom, indeed, had been cast.
This brutal blast could lead to perdition.
Waning was her persistence.
Would she be blown apart? She didn't know.
Then suddenly in the distance,
she noticed a lustrous glow.
A Lighthouse there was. What a wondrous sight!
'Twas not made of mortar and stone.
Surprisingly and to her great delight
It was made of flesh and bone.
A beacon my God became
to a lost humanity.
Jesus is His name,
and that little boat was me!
This poem won second place for the May 2021 poetry contest