Beauty of Reality

Burdened the hands scale the net, fingers walking up and down the wet rope scanning the mass of sea-muck for any sign of life.


The pulleys clang as empty nets hang- swinging through the brisk sea air sharing in the gull?s caws of disappointment?

The traps are lowered per order of the captain, re-dropping down into the black abyss, sent back to search for a bountiful catch that would fill the ship with a sense of hope that could not otherwise be seen?

Time passes? prayers are said? deals are offered from eager men who plead for success to a being that may just be able to give them that which they seek?

Again hands scale the net, fingers walk the rope searching the wet mesh for life.. empty are they again as they were the time before, and the time before that and the time before that and the time before that?

An eruption, the motor jerks on making giant splash and sound, loosing all hope the boat turns with absolutely no enthusiasm. Onward they sail shore nowhere in sight, heading towards home having been kicked here and there with nothing to show, for a journey of troubled waters except for the heartache and feelings of inadequacy and failure that grow as home grows nearer?

One man looks out into the deep blue for some sign of hope or promise, and his stare goes unanswered receiving no reciprocation from Poseidon or and any sea creature for that matter?

Banging like thunder- boots of an eager crew storm the docks pounding the floating ground hard trying to release the frustration of an unyielding harvest. The men stand in front of their woman like little boys in front of an angry mother, they look beaten and worn, and with a simple kiss there is an exchanged understanding that no catch was made?

The couples retire, leaving the harbor only to return to the boat tomorrow in hopes of better favor?

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