Ghost Ship

A Ghost Ship
It passes this way
Over and over
Each time I rush
To the Shore to
Watch.

The Fog is split
By Her graceful Bow
Her lines form
Beautiful Curves
Drifting through the
Waves.

No men on Deck
No shouts or chanties.
No popping of the Canvas
No creaking in the Shrouds
No watch Bell
Ringing.

She glides like the Wind
Effortless as Moonlight
Starlight on her Forecastle
Embraced by the Night
Her Mainmast Kisses the
Moon.

I want to wade into Harbor
I want to feel My Body
Buoyed Up in the Froth
To feel the Surge of the Waves
As She passes so Close to
Me.

Perhaps I can reach
A stray Hawser
Left adrift along Her Flanks
Grab it with both of My hands
And Pull for all my Life is
Worth.

I yearn to haul Myself Aboard
To feel Her Deck under my Feet
To feel Her Wheel in my Hands
To Taste the Salt Air again
Stand watch on Her during a
Storm.

Yet each time She passes
I know in the Meat of My Soul
That She has Sailed
A Long Time Ago
And left Me standing on the
Shore.

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About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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5 Responses to Ghost Ship

  1. rosie49 says:

    I got chills reading this one. Delicious!

  2. Larysia says:

    Lovely work! Great sense of yearning. I can see the ship as a wonderful metaphor for so many things we want but can’t have. Fantastic imagery, as usual.

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