Poetry

With age-old masts creaking,
cursed by Godly wrath,
just before the worst storms in the Cape do begin
an ancient ship is sighted sailing
as a token to break the scorn and blasphemy of man
or so the legend says, with a skeleton at the wheel
of the Flying Dutchman, full of ungodly sailors
who forever glare at each other with thoughts of revenge,
as a spectre strait out of the portals of hell
and if I do remember correctly
there is no salvation or sleep for anyone aboard
and everything turns around the love of a woman
that lived in the most beautiful Cape
and now I wonder how long that ship is still going to sail
as every now and then some seamen do notice it.