That Shark

Between the feverish shiver
of sharks, and the approaching spout
greedily slurping ocean's waves;
with green and orange colored canes
(as though the sailboat's veins; or snakes
that crawled from dark of reachless depth);
with stranger of a schooner there
nestled on distant foamy crests,
with every kind of beast and bird,
a sight from future, maybe past?

You hold your head up with such grace.
Please tell me this:  Are you content,
sitting, reflecting on your life,
on goals of lawless motion, sense
in ages, hours, in this moment?
But leaning back you look composed.
How soft your feet and loose your toes!
In chaos all about have you
at last secured yourself a home?
Oh tell me how, please tell me how!

You look dignified, look so sure.
Am I wrong though, are you in pain?
Did you give up, believe you'd failed,
to now be looking back, away
from kismet's open drooling mouth,
your will in pieces like your mast,
your soul is torn as now's your sail?
Don't stop the fight, don't give up hope.
In awe of you for now, it's I
that shark who's looking up to you!

Inspired by:
"The Gulf Stream" by Winslow Homer, oil on canvas,1899.
http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/11122

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bf/Winslow_Homer_-_The_Gulf_Stream_-_Metropolitan_Museum_of_Art.jpg (wikimedia public domain)