Alone in our lifeboats,
adrift upon the ocean of life,
circling sharks may appear.

There are times that we see hands stretched out to us, 
promising to proffer aid against the storms,
but in the end there is only each one of us,
the individual,
facing fate alone.

Friends may offer,
give succor,
and family may be there,
but to no avail,
when the sharks begin to circle,
you are alone,
alone to bail your craft,
to put up your battered sail.

Unconquered though.

You are unbowed,
withstanding the storm tossed seas,
approaching your final port,
ignoring the depths below,
shunning their soulless eyes,
spurning their malevolent appetites for blood.

It is their nature,
and one cannot really judge,
for they know no better.

It is their nature,
and you are glad you can pass over them,
float above them,
deny their feast,
move on.

Dip nothing of yourself,
no precious part of you, no heart of you,
into the predatory froth,
for they would feed upon your art,
they would take and rend you in their frenzy,
their need to attack,
to deface and demolish you.

It is their nature,
to be purposefully self-centered,
for they are what they are, 
will never change.

Traveling alone 
to the horizon,
as they trail along your path,
you ignore them,
heading for the harbor of hope,
and the last port of call,
achieving a purpose of your own,
too arcane to be denied.

And the circling sharks fade away
with the dawn of destiny.