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The Black spot
There I was simply sitting, the smell of rum and brine emitting,
Coming as if from one poor.
Presently there was a knocking, not preceded by any walking,
As if a ghost had floated to my door
Without ado the door burst open, despite the fact I had not spoken,
Spoken to the open door.
Entered a man ghastly to sight, really he was such a fright,
A sight that I could not ignore.
Still I was a toughened sailor, prone to elude many a jailer,
Still I was shocked by the expression that he wore.
His cloak was ragged, tattered; his boots were broken in and battered
His face a thing of unsightly gore.
It was then that he spoke, that awful, horrid, jarring note,
It shook me to my very core.
“Soul!” he said. “He wants your soul, the man for whom I work!”
“Who?” he answered with a smile, to the edges quirk.
“Davy Jones!” he cried at me, “’Tis time to repay your loans.”
He hailed me with a roar
“Come with me or you will see the black spot of your mortality!”
At my very being such words tore.
Please, I prayed, be a dream, sadly, more real this could not seem
My heady thoughts began to soar.
“Come with me or face the Kraken, your time of choice is now!”
So, I took his outstretched hand, and headed for the bow,
Wondering what sour fate for me had in store.
Then suddenly there it was, rising from the sea. The ghost ship, the Flying Dutchman, she had come for me
Rising up far away from shore.
Down I walked to the ship of the dead, the deck ghostly green and swabbed with dread,
Salty sobs rising from the floor.
So there it was I was to be, a crewman for eternity
Stuck upon this ship forevermore.
Maybe you can join the crew, your pirate soul collected too
Ever wonder what The Dutchman holds in store?