Thursday, 13 December 2007
I saw no sign of sail, nor enemy fleet upon the horizon,
Nor ravening snarls of snagging rock arising,
Upon the headings that we were setting,
Nor the sudden doom of shallows beneath us,
Nor fearsome dark squalls unleashing,
Nor wild crashing walls of white water engulfing,
Nor the wave skimming wings of petrels upon the wind,
Portents of a gathering storm soon threatening,
For the waters were still, beneath a cloudless sky.
No reason for any mutiny, nor to revolt, usurp and steal,
Or wrest the captains hands from the ships wheel.
Nowhere points the compass, when a ships crew are divided,
The needle turns furiously, at all times towards disaster,
First East, then West, then South, then North, ever swinging wildly,
Towards the will of one faction, then back towards another,
Each blind to where the ship is bound, soon the voyage will end,
Forlorn upon the eternal sea, that no man will ever master,
Inviting to attend the spectres of swift disaster,
That feast upon the wreckage of all hope now abandoned,
Becalmed in chaos, the sacred vision slowly broken.
So why seek the fools gold of such a pyrrhic victory,
When the only certain prize, is the sinking ships demise.