The Riverboat Revenant

She sails where the bayou kisses the tide, a phantom queen with a mournful glide. The paddle churns, though no hands steer, and jazz floats faint on a breeze unclear. Her lanterns burn with a ghostly hue, casting gold on waters black and blue. No passengers board, no voices ring-- just whispers soft as a violin string. The captain’s hat is dust and bone, his eyes like coals, his soul long gone. He tips his brim to the moonlit shore, forever sailing, seeking more. Beneath her decks are cards and gin, dice that roll where life wore thin. The laughter echoes through the years-- a masquerade of silent cheers. They say she sank in 'twenty-four, but rose again with something more. A curse, a pact, or prayer gone wrong-- now midnight is her siren song. If you hear her horn on a still, dark night, don’t follow the sound or seek the light. For once aboard, you’ll never disembark-- your name etched in the ledger of the dark. Alesia Leach © 4/2025