One Would Think That Fate Would Have Made a Prettier Ship

December 12, 2010
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Glinting, raving, mad—the boy meets the waves.
Gone! His sanity has fled to brighter seas,
Deserted, lies this ship of broken staves
On the trodden cliffs amongst creviced pleas.
Unrepentant, inglorious, he stands
Before the hull of destiny’s behemoth,
A dastard, bastard ship from distant sands,
Cry! You dare cry at the helm of the mammoth?
Cast away trepidation! Seize the throat
Of the apparition that taunts and goads,
Murmuring melodies to lull the boat
Into a sense of familiarity.
Little do you know, for the noose hangs taut,
Prepared to dole a last sign of justice wrought.

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