Across a hot and lifeless sea
the Ship continues his journey
but the wind that drew his sails is gone
and so I sit down under the decks
and I grab the heavy wooden oars.
Muscles strain and pop
my hands fill with blisters and splinters
and sweat beads my forehead,
coats my face and back
as I pull the oars back to my chest
time and again.
When there is no Anchor,
a dead Sail, and no active need of a Rudder
you just have to row.