Every Odysseus-of-us,
sailing home to our own Ithaca
must surely succumb, it seems,
to the whirlpools and traps of the journey
across life’s perilous oean
in consciousness’ small boat.
An eye-blink of relative peace
freed from one entrapment
not yet ensnared by the next,
is the best most humans can hope for,
or maybe imprisonment
by a fairly benign captor
within or outside us,
instead of a vicious sadist.
I’ve seen a few mighty heroes
meet the open sea’s perils
by raising a powerful hand
and uttering Sacred Names
that turned the dragons away
like frightened, yelping pups
But that has not
been my fate.
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