The Flying Dutchman
Hoisted high Black flags sail,
Camouflaged by a misty veil,
A bow braced with forward guns,
Upon a ship no-one outruns,
This sight was seen through a scope,
A view of horror crushing all hope,
Terror races through the ship,
For they are within Davy Jones grip,
Bustling panic to throw weight over the side,
Anything and everything to save their hide,
Dark swells of clouds surround the merchant,
Like a sour jar of vinegar the crew fermant,
Kneeling, some pray for some type of saving,
Any rescue from what that vile ship is craving,
Villainous auras fills the air,
Causing halt to all prayer,
Will these pirates spare some of the lives,
Or send an empty ship back to their wives,
With every second the air gets thicker,
From the aft of the ship comes a flicker,
A barrage of small slugs rip through wood,
Boots and blood left where the cap'n stood,
Trepidation spotlights the first mate,
Unable to move due to sealed fate,
Through a portal all Hell enters,
For the helm was just splinters,
Without a doubt no lives will be spared,
The story of a rescue to never be shared,
A war horn sounds ringing in every ear,
Port side a figurehead in mist begins to leer,
Skeletal bones with a sickle, appears to be the reaper,
Materializing behind him the black flagged creeper,
With woods as dark as the Captain's soul,
The deck stained red from the Dutchmen's toll,
No visible crew leaves the merchants struck,
But this was not their type of luck,
From starboard side a hatchet was thrown,
Landing in the boswain's cheekbone,
Like serpents, pirates sliver over the side,
Some crew just buckled while others cried,
Hands raised high and knees into deckboard,
Now a chest soiled red by plunging sword,
Before every death was a faint wretched smell,
The kind only found rotting in a cell,
Cause Davy's crew were sentenced to jail,
An endless opaque sea faring Hell.
Copyright ©
Garrett Bass
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