I ride this veneer of hope
on this sea of despair.
Those below want my thoughts.
They want me here.
I don't want this pain,
this obvious shell,
but they want me.

These thoughts reach out
like arms of Hate.
They need the fuel
for their own distaste.
I resist it but I feel it too,
can I be the same such fuel?

Nothing is white,
in this world of grey.
Black is gone,
confused for another just ideal.
The sea is Grey,
and it wants me too.

When I go down
what will I become?
Will I even BE?
And when others fish here
will they see what was me?
Or will they say...

"I ride this veneer of hope...."

Sailing on such tempestuous waters
when water mingles freely with the air
when foaming spume and sucking whirlpools
threaten to drag us down into despair
Remember to seek through hellish weather
that beacon of hope, that lighthouse where
you may reset your sails, adjust your heading
to avoid treacherous shoals, and deaths dire lair.

And if, upon the wide sea no lighthouse leads, then
Trim your sails and ride with that howling gale
Downwind upon those waves, hard set your rudder
smiling grim to lashing furies. they shall not prevail
against a brave captain, this crew, this strongly built ship
for hope is never lost where such brave souls sail.