The Orphan and the Whale

Of the rescued orphan was the last he wrote; twas a very fine end, till he boarded his boat. Relishing in triumph of a tale well told, he set out for some fishing in the salty cold. Through coastal fog to the open sea; of the hellish nightmare he rowed free. His euphoria tho, would be cut short. He was taking on water and miles from port. A garish screeching as the sun was blocked; a cloud if seagulls swooped and mocked. He knew in an instant what this meant. The devil was close; it had caught his scent. Déjà vu as his craft was sinking; of the hellish nightmare he was thinking. Then to his dispair, the tiny boat was gone; just he and the devil on the barren sea alone. Then it lifted him up for one last ride; Ahab's bones still lashed to its side. Plunged to the abiss where the Pequod lay; a phantom crew lommed waiting for this day. The crew complete, they could sail once again; a ghost ship manned by fleshless men. And there the devil where it would forever be; just ahead of the Pequod on the mystic sea. The tale never ends for the orphan and the whale, but could never be written by Ishmael.