Lo and behold, the Flying Dutchman
Comes whispering the sordid mourns of lonely mermen.
Her black sails flutter in a windless breeze,
Break my sandbar with little ease.
Alone, at the bow, stands a boatswain,
His long-dead eyes staring at my cayenne
The masts silhouette against a pallid frieze,
St. Elmo’s burn into the horizon’s crease
Familiarity lurks in her obsidian hull,
The murderous stench of her revenant haul.
Wave after wave, I send rolling forth,
Poseidon seems asleep underneath the froth.
Dread fills and echoes in my skull,
As she begins her ravenous cull.
Turns my sea into a scarlet broth,
Cuts the waves as a satin cloth.
-30-
Copyright©Madras Courier, All Rights Reserved. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from madrascourier.com and redistribute by email, post to the web, mobile phone or social media.Please send in your feed back and comments to [email protected]
