He was a seafaring man

Set sail on a morn when

the sea         was

its wettest,

‘her’ locket he wore ’round

his               neck,

the shore wears 

the tide.

 

Strong headwinds kept the

tall               ship

along the coast,

in her bow,

a

fragment of wood from

a shipwreck.

 

Clouds, a storm from nowhere,

grabbed the  keel

grabbed her

sails with

barnacled     hands.

 

The sea gave him and his

ship a           frothy

look as mad dogs in

a cobblestone

alley,

put them on a thin line

before

pronouncing sentence.

 

Brusk, bitter and insulting

waves           washed

over her deck and

crew…

were kept mortal prisoners,

in rusted       chains

of the sea life.

 

Shadows lay before her skeletal

remains,       much

as open windows on

the sand,

closed by his sole

survivor         fingers

to silence

the screams.

 

The ship tilted, creaked, a tomb

for the          dead

on a barren beach,

its bell struck eight times,

over and       over

by the wind pulling

on the rope.

 

The sailors roots to the sea pulled

out               where

fallen tress lie in

shipyards…

he walks along the shore with a

fragment of    wood,

a mutinous cane,

looking for a

new ship.

 

Copyright © 05/20/2014 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

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2 comments on “He was a seafaring man

  1. Such a luring read with images as if they are in a painting displaying happenings aboard the ship. The voice is powerful and speaks in a tone of distress but having hope…loved the locket of hers he wore around his neck & the barnacled hands – great metaphors.

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