Discipline

Discipline

I know and pray, if I can just stay
on this raft I will float down the river.

So even in storms, my ritual conforms,
for the message I’ll one day deliver.

I’m not a destroyer, instead I’m a warrior,
with Poems from my journal to thank.

At times I will grow, and then tire and slow
and want to run up on the bank.

But unless I lay on the raft each day
I won’t keep floating downstream.

So stick to the ritual, I say to one and all, 
and stay on this raft and dream.

Of course my sense in tense turbulence
has stopped my good intention.

In storms my fear and all that’s dear
can really distract my attention.

Yet I know and pray if I can just stay
on this raft I will find where I aim.

So I hold to the rite, I just know that I’m right,
The raft, the raft!  I proclaim!

At times I wonder, especially in thunder,
where does this river go?

It leads me to, around, and through
places at times I don’t know.

What I should know, will come and go,
as I lay on this raft; this altar.

But the raft is good, it floats like it should,
and keeps my head above water.

I let the time pass, by praising this raft,
and marveling at its designs. 

I watch out for muck, I’d hate to get stuck,
in the muck with slick serpentines.

So I hold to the rite, I know I am right,
The raft, the raft!  I proclaim!

Then the raft capsized—
                    and boy was I surprised,
when I found I could float all the same!