January 8, 2012
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A broken mast, ripped sails,
Mooned, leaning on pebbled bank,
It’s hull vulnerable to the open sky,
To have sunk would have been more dignified,
But instead its decks slope, cracked,
And its surfaces cloud with rust,
Combusting in the salty air,
Wreckage, so perfect in abandonment,
What once was governer of the tides,
Made tall by unfulfilled plans and dreams,
Now crumbles, harbourless, a ragged sail,
Waves white in the sea breeze,
Will it, can it, ever sail again?
The waves laugh, scratching its sides,
It just waits.
What else can it do?
After sinking failed so spectacularly?

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