The Boat I Sail

I'm looking into a picture of a turbulent stormy sea, And imagining I am battling against its wild fury. The winds are whipping cruelly around the boat I sail, Lashing it with salt spray, hurricane and gale. The waves are rising skywards, fifty feet or more, And I can hardly see at all, in this violent downpour, Clouds are dark and heavy, rumblings can be heard, But in the midst of this cacophony, I spy no living bird. It's as if the world is angry, stirring up a fearful fight, I try to hold the craft on course, struggling in my plight, The ocean is never static, it is restess all the while, Forever in perpetual motion, and constantly hostile. I stand back now from the image, of power uncontrolled, The painter creates a vision that's forceful, strong and bold, He has captured all the terror, the brutality of the deep, In just a few deft brush strokes, this drama begins to seep. Into my mind, and whilst dreaming, a fantasy can start, About being heroic and daring, fearless, brave and smart. Such a confrontation here, between me and the water's rage, Thinking I could possibly, such ill humour, thus assuage. But I know I would wait forever to see calmness in this scene, For it is a painting, sealed in time, and could never be serene.