Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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PAGE 2 SHIP LOG october 1915

Suddenly we find ourselves in high seas
winds, change directions, whirling fans
sea swells now monsters, wet towers
that crash, test the rigging, stoutness
of ship, no bird nor whale speculates
about our will, we are alone clinging
to a matchstick, we tried to steer clear
blindsided, October 3, turns darker
fear guides our action, “pump like hell”
only God can save us, buried under
tons of water, sepulchral finality
griping our minds as a wave lifted
us out, baptized into a cloud torment
broken light piercing with rays of hope.




© Jan G. Otterstrom F. October 3, 2015