Ghost Ship Poem by Joanie Tarr

Ghost Ship



Like the barrage and onslaught of a tempest storm
Your words leave me battered, broken, bleeding and torn
I have become the ghost ship, empty, tattered and worn.

My sigil will fly at half mast tonight
In the morning everything will be put to right,
I have weathered the storm, your nature and might

To mourn my losses will mean defeat
You left me no chance to flee or retreat
And so I call the drums to strike the beat.

No white flag will mount my mast,
I will fight to the very last
To the end I will stand fast.

Even the Ghost Ship, in its own way, has it's victory,
As time and tale, gossip and hope make it legendary
Cloaked in darkness, it remains forever, a mystery.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: survival
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