The Ferryman's Call: A Journey Through Life

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Life, a river, wide and deep,

Its currents swift, its secrets keep.

And we, the travelers, in our boat,

Upon its restless surface float.

A distant shore, a hazy gleam,

The substance of a waking dream.

We row with hope, with fear we pause,

Bound by life's uncertain laws.

Our strength may wane, our vision blur,

The purpose of our journey stir.


The Ferryman as Guide and Sustainer

The storm may rise, the skies grow grim,

The light within begins to dim.

Yet like a flame in winds that howl,

We guard our truth through trial and foul.

For strength is not a shield of steel,

But how we bend, and how we heal.


A whisper then, across the tide,

A knowing presence, by our side.

Not just a boatman, strong and old,

But wisdom's hand, a story told.

The mentor's voice, a guiding star,

Revealing journeys, near and far.

The challenge faced, the lesson learned,

A page of destiny, deftly turned.


The Ferryman as Catalyst for Growth

Each bend we face, each detour made,

Is not a loss, nor light betrayed.

For even roots in darkest ground,

Push upward still, without a sound.

So too we rise, though veiled in strife,

Each choice a sculptor carving life.


The love that lifts, when shadows fall,

The truth we seek, answering our call.

The silent strength within the soul,

That makes us whole, and keeps us whole.

Each guiding hand, each moment bright,

A ferryman, within the light.


When doubt like shadows grips the mind,

And courage seems a step behind,

We move, though tremble with the weight—

For growth is born from walking straight

Into the fog, where fears reside,

And find our voice we thought had died.


For shores are reached, and rivers crossed,

No effort truly ever lost.

And though we seek, with hopeful gaze,

For that one guide through life's complex maze,

Perhaps the ferryman, we find,

Is etched within the searching mind.


The river’s song is never still,

It teaches peace, and shapes our will.

Like time, it flows—both near and far,

A quiet force, just as we are.

For presence is the oar we hold,

That turns the moments into gold.


The journey's rich, with every oar,

As we ourselves, explore the shore.

And with each choice, a current caught,

The wisdom that we've deeply sought,

We learn to steer, with grace and might,

Our own boat, towards the fading light.


Hope is a lantern, small and shy,

Yet glows beneath a clouded sky.

It flickers, dims, then shines anew,

A silent vow that pulls us through.

Like seeds that sleep beneath the snow,

We bloom from depths we’ll never know.



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