The Prize
She has been gaining on us
Our hold heavy
With burdensome loot
Our riggings pock-marked
From the shot of exchanges
And the stress of this South Sea.
Duties never change
Sometimes lightened with song
But many a time
On our knees scrubbing.
Or hauling sheets
Or scampering aloft.
We know our lowliness
Those skeletons of drink, darkness
And debauchery ashore.
Captain reads us Psalms
Many a morn
But the images are so foreign
Like an exotic verdant isle
Not yet landed.
And this other bonnie ship
Gaining this late afternoon
All sails full and profiting
This might be the last
Of our nights for this flag.
Close watch to lights and breeze
We reckon.
And who are they?
And whose Crown?
And will we be shackled
Below decks?
Or given happy privilege
To serve and strain
And sing yet again?
For a different Captain
Headed for a different land?
With what seems
Totally different purpose.
(* Salvation starts with total despair of self, leading to an overthrow, a boarding, and a subjugation with ultimate gladness to a different Captain and King. Think I'm gonna sail away with Him.)
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2016
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