The Fisherman

By Scott Schulte

I lived my life as a fisherman,
Making my way from Gloucester to
Quebec north and no further
South than Block Island.

On a late season trip
I set sail southward
To where I knew
The fish must lie

Upon my third week
I called my crew
And we changed our sails
To end our unfulfilled journey

Within an hour's time
A horrid tempest arose
My men, sails, bow and stern
No match for its howling gales.

The fierce waves smashed
Upon my deck
And certain death was
Now mine and my crew.

I cried to my Lord,
Why have you
Forsaken me?
Why Lord why?

I cried for relief
To be saved, my men and I
From the vicious maiden
Of southward winds and mighty waves.

For three days and nights
The tempest screamed
And tossed us about
To wither it would have us go.

I still remained upon my deck
No fish, no homeward trek
Only failure and certain death
Awaited me.

Upon the fourth day
The tempest yielded
The sun arose
And we all the men wept with joy.

I knelt and asked
My Lord
Why didst thou
Punish me so?

I stood
Looked over my battered
Ship and crew
And shuttered.

I cried with no understanding
As to why
I would be so
Punished

Did the Lord not love me?
Had I committed
An unspeakable,
Unforgivable act of sin?

No!
I gazed upon the setting horizon
And saw
I had been led to where the fish truly lay.

Upon three more days
We cast our nets
And reaped a harvest
Never before seen at Gloucester.

The Lord had pushed me
To the place
150 miles south
Of where I'd never before cast nets.

He knew
Of my mind, my stubborn heart
And pushed me
Where I wouldn't myself go.

The tempest,
She was a blessing from my Lord.
For the crew of all my men
And a gift for me forever.