EPIC Poem: Admiral’s Log: 1242, by Lance Mazmanian

We’d been sailing for months when the isle sprang to view,
grassy it was, and forlorn for sure.
Charts said nothing
of its being here.

We moored near the isle
where I set forth a search,
myself in the lead
of course.

Now I must tell you:

As we crossed from the ship
in our dinghy so frail
I and the crew felt as the first
to do it.

Once to the isle
we spanned its grey length,
uneasiness began to gnaw.

Over a knoll, we found a shanty
(a shack if you will),
aged and weathered and empty.

We entered the structure, and did hope to find
a trace of the makers long past.

When nothing upturned, we checked ’neath the floor
and there we found our prize:

For lying untouched was a jewel so strange,
pea-sized, fine cut, ancient.

Actual stars
of nighttime skies
were easily visible in depths.

Icy winds
blew from its blackness, and a rainbow
wrapped it ’round.

However…

Upon all this,
we returned to the ship
and sailed ever on.

At times I regret our leaving the gem,
but considering the unearthly inhuman design
I was fearful of wrath from Gods or others:

surely such creatures
may have owned it.

It will be there for them when they swiftly return,
if ever they do.

I wonder.

Signed 1242, bleak midwinter
at the pole.