Mountains of clouds
billowing in the grey tinged sky...
a thousand masted schooner
with seven crow's nests
slices the robin's egg blue waves
where sunlight still hides
as ghosts brandish cutlasses
giving their battle cries,
gliding by and leaving no wake
Neither booty or swag can they take
their three hundred year thirst
never to be slaked
as they continue on their cursed journey
chasing the sunset's burning
into the distant horizon
as the day turns into night yet again
They are no older and no wiser
just shadows of their former selves
living and reliving their sad mortal existence
but by not having given in to death
you almost have to marvel
at their persistence, their insistence
on keeping a semblance of life
long after the thrill was gone
as though they are still trying
to get it right...
08-22-10
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