Upon the open sea,

Space above and depths below,

A sloop lies on the placid

Sea of foam.

 

With feather-like sails

And sharp, sleek bow

Slicing the ocean like a

Razor profound.

 

Yet her canvas slacks

And the ship she limps

With her decks bare as she

Sideways slips.

 

Drifting with the currents

Aimless, purposeless winds,

A voice incoherent.

 

Not a hint she gives

Of her port or her end.

She wanders the sea searching

For the wind.

 

For an end to the sky

Or maybe a bay,

A rest or a port for to

Finally stay.

 

And as birds overhead

Fly over, they pass by.

For a ghost of a ship is worse

Than the sky.

 

Not a soul to own her.

Her life has passed on,

Doomed to drift and to wander

‘Till the world is gone.