Dale Bronson | + Follow Poet |
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The Last Storm

From stern to bow she’s strong, she’ll stand the storm, 
she’ll take it’s brutal pounding all night long,
and when the dawn comes shining thru, we’ll cast her sails,
and head her into December’s frigid wicked gail's,  
as the winds moans and wails, she’ll show us, what she can do, 
with every man jack that dare to come along, by the sweat of his braw, 
and a back that’s made strong, whisperin a prayer, for forgiveness, 
as the wild winds through the long night blew,
and swore if he made it ashore, dear lord, he’d give his life over to you, 
but those of us who ride the waves in all of their rage, we’ll ride em to glory, 
this is a story foreknew, for once long ago, we made the same vow too,
but we’d rather die on the winds that whip up the sea, 
with hearts and spirits that will always blow with the storm wild and free,
rather than live trapped in societies cage, that’s how we reasoned, 
those of us, now hard, and the sea has made seasoned,  just a chosen few,
that know, if we let her go, and turn her into the howling north wind, 
she’ll come around and crack like a whip, when we trim her quick over, 
she’ll cut deep and run true, cuz this storm is just startin to brew, 
as into it’s icy heart, the sculls and cross bones we flew,
and as sure as your born, every lovers been sworn, 
to pay all that in the end, will come due,
every man shaking and shivering down to his bones, 
down on his knees steady praying, 
as we run her steady ahead,full sail straight into a forty foot swell, 
listening to a whisper in his ear, when all he can hear, 
is Davy Jones saying lads, welcome to hell

Copyright © Dale Bronson | Year Posted 2018

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