Behind His Knowing Eyes
While in the moonlit night he stood, his crew below asleep,
the captain gazed with knowing eyes upon the ocean deep.
A sinister tranquility was fleeing in the path
of moaning wind grown resolute in showing forth its wrath.
The moon, a pale pearl paradox, stared calmly down at him.
Then angry clouds obscured its face and everything was dim.
Behind the captain’s knowing eyes, his thoughts had grown astray.
They took him to another place where once he used to play.
He stood among the acres of unmoving solid ground,
where waves became tall stalks of grain the wind blew all around.
The first of many undulations crashed onto the ship.
He pictured rippling golden wheat and felt his vessel dip.
The men, awakened, clamored now. He prayed their deaths be swift
and gripped the wheel to navigate a ghastly forceful lift.
Imagining hot prairie sun, he viewed the huge cold swell
that came to bury them. . . and closed those eyes that knew too well.
Written years before it was posted here at Soup on 6/6/2010
Submitted 8/26/2022
for Mark Toney's 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 13 Poetry Contest
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