Entombed Enwombed

(Dedicated To Submariners All Over The World) Dived deep in the bowels of the seas My steely shell’s a womb. Deep down amidst the oil and grease I am at peace in the Lovecraftian tomb! What’s with the antonyms, you may ask? Two opposite words you’ve used - One’s a warm and wonderful cask, The other’s dead and worm-abused. The words are apt, as you’ll soon realize, For a sub’s a Faustian hell Where the soul imperceptibly dies A place where sub-human’s dwell! Dimmed lights cast a sepulchral gloom, Myriad machines sing Orphic songs Of palpable peril and impending doom; Each one of us a Houri’s groom! To us’s denied the kiss of the sun, Not for us the fresh blown breeze, We know not when the day’s begun, Nor when the night’s a-freeze! Up periscopes and down again The klaxons’ strident screams Make us jump from where we’ve lain To drilled duties in well-oiled teams. The sighting of a laggard prey, Spells sure a petard blown, For a homing submarine fish tail spray Brings terror to hardened men and grown. Though through silent prowls of the deep we hunt, Like coin could be our fate. Our shell could crack with the depth charge brunt; With Davy Jones we’d have our date! But when heightened pulse and throbbing heart Have ceased their labours wild, Routine sets in and all is “back to start” Each one an unborn child. The sub becomes a womb, you see, A place where your thoughts get sorted; An amniotic envelope, safe and cozy, With fair chance to get aborted! So I hope now that my ditty’s run its course The message’s plain and grim That life and death share the same source - For a submariner womb and tomb are synonym!