I am the Sea (October 2015)

September 25th.
I am a confused child, making noise, but no direction
I am an upper air low with a surface trough; I do not know what that means
I wander aimlessly, angrily without direction, simply looking to be. 
I find nourishment in my westward march and I madly eat.
 
September 29th.
Birthed in sunshine and weighing 14,971 tons of deadweight,
I am readied for departure by the 33 hands on board
I am carefully guided into the open Atlantic.
I have room to move, my heart pounds.  I am eager, joyous, to race forward at 20 knots
My gaze is transfixed, southeasterly into a greying sky.
 
September 30th.
I am a hurricane, difficult and brooding, undecided on life’s direction.
I am influenced by the sea and I turn yet again to the Northwest, blowing and raining harder now, and harder still.
 
October 1st.
I am prideful, boastful in my strength and eager to show my mother, the sea, how truly powerful I am.
 
October 1st.
My bow is slammed again and again, by 60 foot waves crashing upon my deck.  The cargo shifts ever so slightly with each impact.  I plow into the biggest of these waves, headlong, directly into the heart of the bellowing beast, guided by my hands. 
 
My engines stop. I don’t know why.  It may have been the fierce jarring.  My heart now broken, I know I can no longer plow into the waves.  I fear for my hands.  For all my great length, I am turned quickly by the wind and the sea.  I am now parallel to the waves. Breached against the wind and sea, all hope is lost.  Now the 60 foot waves and 125 miles an hour winds are full force against my starboard side.
 
I am slammed just a few times before the cargo restraints break free and the cargo spills from my deck.  Attached together, they weigh like an anchor and I list and fall over.
 
Wishing for quiet under the waves, I find it is not.  I am torn apart, breaking up as I sink, I cry for the hands but they are lost, some taken out by the sea but most sink with me.  Darkness and quiet close in.
 
October 8th.
My youthful vigor is gone my power a memory.  Mother no longer nourishes me and I cry my last tears and break up into fragments of clouds on a grey day over Newfoundland.
 
I am the sea. I nourish the storms. I nourish the people. I hold their memories three miles deep.  I make no excuses.  I make no prideful boasts. I am the sea.
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