Transient

Though unruly and inconsistent, sails cast request assistance.
And To the demand, the wheat of the fields concedes submission.
And so do the others of high splendor.
Coming with purpose but lacking a sender.

Such a presence it finds within me.
With it I have founded my soul,
And rightly so.

I look into the great expanse with confidence.
I see that it has no end.
But, I slip and reach back and grab hold.

Sadly, The pit has accepted me.
Forever.
Until, from the darkness, an unseen hand makes an offer.
I accept, I had nothing.