Anchorless Freedom
by Odin Roark

Afloat and no island in sight.

How sublime this detachment,
taking us where our innate sense of direction needs to go,
sometimes into a dream-like cove of illusional calm
anchoring firm for a momentary Dodger Dog with onions,
easy on the mustard,
a grand stand ice cream sundae,
a bag of nerve-calming popcorn.

Such is the place where
who-cares-about-us doesn't matter,
who-pays-attention-to-us ignored,
and the ubiquitous flow of tides avoids purchase
as we choose to stay afloat,
no run-aground landfall in sight.

Where better can the calm moon
the explosive sun
or a wind-greedy hurricane
express freely to us the leaks in time’s lifeboat,
the inevitable holes in its sails
the salty thirst of its survival,
all while nature’s perpetual welcome drifts beside us,
confirming we’re free,
not shipwrecked yet.

Oh, yes…

There are times,
when we imagine we’ll be savagely clinging to life,
grasping at aged seaweed strewn shorelines
where we too might find the FedEx box on shore,
discover a coconut to make as friend.

But for the fortunate…

Aloneness begs not hopelessness,
for as individualism’s constant companion,
solitude delivers ohms of the wind
and deflects persuasion’s persistent arrows
aimed at one’s heart,
where playtime Dodger-Dogs,
ice cream sundaes,
and bags of popcorn
remain vigil.

Still…

Even as we stay afloat with
no deserted island in sight,
echoing voices continue their warning
of the inevitable final wave as absolute.

Yet…

Here we remain
succumbing not to another’s reality,
holding instead to our own
unexplained,
tenacious,
survival.

We fear not…

For longevity continues riding the waves beside us,
urging mortality’s sea to put a smile on,
enjoin this collective voyage of anchorless freedom,
for it may take us where only our precious dreams dare go.