Published back in the day…

Sorrow of the row

 

Now the solitary one, I find no grace

for myself-
the mercy of the morning
the mercy of the deceased,
trying to pull me back into the sea.

Although disheartened,
I must for a long time
lay motionless on
sand along a
barren shore,
along an ice cold ocean
and tread the path of exile;

events always go as they must.

So speaks the sorrow of the row,
mindful of hardships
of corners cut
and the downfall
of the Starred owner.

Often, or always I had alone
to speak of the disaster
each morning before dawn;

there are not any living
to whom I dare clearly
speak of my innermost thoughts.

I know it truly that it was in
the ship building, several flaws
kept secret, a
misjudgment
as it were;

the sickening terror
the deafening impact
the moment of panic;

could not withstand its fate
nor did a pitiful mind
do any good.

Thus, those eager for glory now
keep secure dreaded thoughts
in their feeble minds.

So, I, the sorrow of the row
often wretched and ashamed
bereft of my duty far from the
drowned,
have had to bind in fetters my true feelings
since the sinking long ago;

I hid in the loneliness
of the dark,
weak and weary;

from there, traveled sorrowfully
over frozen waves;

I sought to be
sad of the lack
of any passengers,
a giver of life;

indeed now, I can no longer think
why my spirit does not darken;

when I ponder
on the lifeless bodies
that no longer grabbed
at my sides,
their cries silenced by the freezing air;

losing sight
as the lights
sank beneath the Atlantic surface;

I was blown by the wind,
covered with the
frost from stilled voices;

then my oars touched
the ocean
with a deafening silence
and carried me away,
my seats eerily creaked-
no one was inside to quiet them;

I had chosen to
save myself.

Copyright © 04/15/2013 lance sheridan®

The sorrow of the row