Into the grip
Of the shrieking
storm,
I steer my limping
ship.
Better to die
With head held high,
Rather than safe and
warm.
Lashed to the wheel
Which rules my fate,
I bring the ship to
heel.
Sirens keen my
Christian name,
Demand dresses and
china plate;
My only dream is
fame.
No albatross hangs
round my neck;
I fear not Davy
Jones;
Yet as I sway with
the tear-slick deck,
I hear the sepulchral
tones
Of wedding bells
Crying “Mrs. and
Captain Holmes!”
Captain Holmes' nightmare is more or less the opposite of mine. I'm terrified of dying alone and unloved. I mean, logically I know that everyone dies alone, more or less. But that doesn't make the night terrors of "no one will ever love me I'm a terrible person I can't understand other people everyone hates me" any easier to deal with. So yeah. Also, the rhyme scheme in this is brutal, and not in a good way. I still have no clue how I came up with the pattern. It's this weird interlocking deal and makes no sense to me when I look at it now. Which is how most of my poetry and writing works in the long run.
* * * * * *
Captain Holmes' nightmare is more or less the opposite of mine. I'm terrified of dying alone and unloved. I mean, logically I know that everyone dies alone, more or less. But that doesn't make the night terrors of "no one will ever love me I'm a terrible person I can't understand other people everyone hates me" any easier to deal with. So yeah. Also, the rhyme scheme in this is brutal, and not in a good way. I still have no clue how I came up with the pattern. It's this weird interlocking deal and makes no sense to me when I look at it now. Which is how most of my poetry and writing works in the long run.
