Sails at Sea



It was as though fate had decided when their ships had collided.  They bordered each other as if to kill each other's mother.  No one would yield as they began to wield the steel.  Blood began to spill and so covered in red were the living and the dead while fighting for honor, glory or simply for the zeal of being gory.

With scorn blew the horn for those war torn.  There would be no time to morn.  Biting was the fighting and under the sheathe were gritted teeth to be gnarled in snarls.  It was if a quarrel had been brought on by sorrow brought on by a tide too wicked to ride and so many tried and so many died and so many never got a chance to meet their bride.  So is it that death makes a visit as if to stay to play all day.

Cannon fodder from the slaughter lay strewn to be swept away in a typhoon only to be anchored by the thought that they so bravely fought and yet to be wet with regret are those who haven't died yet.  The thunder and lightning though frightening can be enlightening in letting you see the yard arm of harm as it swings as it sings to grab to stab at  whatever breath you have left if you're still heaving to be breathing.  Some stare is if to see their own souls leaving.  So is the pitch and the yaw of what the dead eyes saw.

You would think to see the view best from the crow's nest but not when you see your best friend come to an ugly end by being split in two by a crew you never knew.  It's too late to ask what for the war when there's so much blood to pour and not enough rum to make you feel numb.  The thinking in the drinking is but a boat sinking with no way to dislodge the mirage.  So you stare at the glare of the  nightmare that daunts you to haunt you.  The desert of death is drenched in sin without a drop a gin and so capsized is the hope of ever keeping afloat.

It was as though fate had decided when their ships had collided.  Forever they remained tethered together in stormy weather.  From bow to stern both of the hulls burned.  Shouts and yells fell to the gale.  The last of the lamps grew damp to go dark in the night as if to signal an end to the fight.  It was stunning to hear the silence running with no way to avoid the noise of the void.  Both crew had been destroyed.  All there's left to see are the sails at sea with the wind whipping and the blood dripping.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When it's you, the crew and that thing that becomes you.

January 23^rd, 2014