In the Wake of Those Who Sunk

Across the sea, a ship did sail

that storms did not let pass.

When storms subside, and rain had dried,

the surface cleared at last.

Where once waves crashed across the hull,

it now falls to the floor.

The sails that once used to confront

the winds had broke and tore.

And the captain, o’ the captain,

who’d yell his expert call;

did not intend that in the end

that he, himself, would fall.

As for the crew, their fate a mirror

of the ship they staffed.

What then was mighty, full of life,

now not even a raft.

Once, fish roasted on the stove,

devoured by the crew.

The men had failed as they had bit

off more than they could chew.

And now the roles become reversed,

as the deck lay still.

Their bones now lie where men had died

and the fish had their fill.

But their want to rule the world,

to tame what they could not,

did not then die, though corpses lie

in wakes of storms they caught.

To sail the oceans is a dream,

the greatest sight to see,

but to think it could be conquered

borders on insanity.

How could a force of nature that

exists before the clock

be brought to its knees by a species

that barely learned to walk?

Yet rationale is not a thought

when seamen chase their dreams.

Whether it’s the biggest oceans

or the smallest streams,

for as long as there’s a sky and sea

and salt wafts in the breeze,

will sailors take their mantle on

and waters they will seize.

And to the crews that have been lost

to depths that claim the dead,

your thoughts live on, and while you’re gone

we’ll live the lives you led.

Across the sea, a ship did sail

and storms, they did amass.

When storms subside, and rain had dried,

the path was clear at last.