Genre: Fantasy, History
by Pete Stones
‘Come up upon the wind’
roared the Master to the sails,
‘hard-a-port, aye aye sir’
echoed down the rails
the prow in tumult groaned,
tacking wildly was her shape,
his lonesome figure smirked to see
the shallows of the Cape.
Gripping to the mainmast
while the ship pitched and yawed,
‘I’ll see thee soon my friends’,
the Master madly cawed.
Wraiths upon the weather deck,
tempests in his soul,
guilt sweeping off into the sea
to be buried in the shoals.
She opened up a seam,
but the water remained at bay
ghosts like oakum stayed the wrath
as the ship did naught but sway.
While his lips did quiver in solemn prayer
to his knees the Master fell,
‘Please release from me this earthly keel,
all city, sea, and dell’
Waves arose like the fingers of God,
and by an act of grace
the Master washed away,
a smile upon his face.
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