Death
of a Sailor
By Ian Stevens
Crashing,
colliding waves surround-
a
hint of bluish-gray and slate;
screaming,
bellowing, interrupting the howl of the wind,
snapping
at my face
as
rain beats upon the ground.
The
rain's rhythmic beat:
tap,
tap,
tap,
some
cruel play of fate
as
it freezes over; the birth of sleet.
Yet
there is some unknown beauty and grace
to
this tempest-
the
sea's rage, the ocean's hate
wrecking
ships, fleet upon fleet,
yet
somehow peaceful...
Looking
into the dark waters,
waves
crashing against the boat,
wondering
how I'm still afloat,
and
not dead.
Listening
to the crashing of thunder,
feeling
the way of the storm...
cold,
so
cold...
Is
it worth drowning
in
it's water,
in
it's hate,
in
it's beauty?
This
storm, this tempest
that
has befallen me,
bringing
death so near,
worth
my life?
I
think it so...
The
last thing I hear:
the
muffled thunder above,
the
wind clashing against the sea,
and
the last thing I see
is
the dark, crushing water beneath me...