Lost At Sea

Since sight of shore, six months gone,

supplies running low, no water to drink,

on sea air, wafts siren song,

of hunger and thirst, at the brink.

The ship, which was once shining,

has now been worn by brine,

the flag, which had been proudly flying,

has now been caked by grime.

Manned by fifty men once, no more,

starvation and disease,

thirty dead, twenty at death's door,

begging for their suffering to cease.

One foul night, obscured by fog,

a sick survivor, was gulping down sea,

when he saw, in the mist, a log,

floating, forlorn, straight at he.

This sign of blessed land,

to the others. he quickly took,

two more bore the asystole hand,

but this earned them, but a look.

They rose to the decks, and saw,

the dreamlike shade of land,

and stood there, slack-jawed with awe,

at the distant band.

Then they leapt to action,

in protest, screamed their bones,

but pain was drowned in passion,

not for ocean, but for stone.

The island grew with great speed,

and men could scarcely wait,

the ship sailed, faithful as a steed,

like an arrow, true and straight.

Their work done, at the prow, they stood,

behind them, the sails billowed,

the ship sounded of creaking wood,

but no man could will it to slow.

Too much they yearned, for solid ground,

to rob their vessel, of speed,

longed for her to charge, until she ran aground,

but it was more than longing, it was keening need.

Faster, faster they rush, now,

their eyes drink in its solidity, visual greed,

the plainness of the earth, furrows a brow,

and they plunge through the seaweed.

Dedicated to Weekly_review, who got me thinking on an extra long poem. :-)