Ghost Ship

(Those who are familiar with the legend of "The Flying Dutchman," or even the Wagnerian opera with that title, will find it easy to get into this poem; if not, I urge you to check it out. Within the saga of the eponymous captain and the endless repetition of his seven-year sentence, it is a fantastic tale of mystery, and still has its mesmerizing effect upon me) It is quiet on the bay and boistrous on the shore; the ship awaits its destiny, romance awaits its foil and soon departure claims its troth above the lovers' agony, beyond adventure's lore. The sails are turned again to open sea, the mast is high, all hands on deck, and through the mist is scanned the pathos on their faces, eyes upon the land, and hearts upon the lea they'll never cross again. The Hollander is resolute, the capstan locked, the deep possessed for yet another seven years of still horizon, salt upon the lips and tales once more down in the hold of tragic irony, of love forever left behind. Now in the night off foreign shores when that dark hull appears within the fog, or just above the clouds, the captain might be seen alone behind the wheel, and silent as he listens for a distant bell to sound the dawning of his wedding day. ~