By John Randall Dodd, Soldotna
My beard grows lengthy 'neath these waves of north atlantic deep.
It's been far too long since I felt the cool razor slide
from stem to stern, the sting of spirit'd salt in my curves.
I spend my hours in quiet, slumber'd peace
'neath the solitary white star,
the cold silence of northerly nautical latitudes.
My grave, my corpse (the latticework of mold'd steel,
my decay'd frame, my broken pieces scatter'd
amongst the silence of scuttling crabs and colour'd fish)
hides, disguises my opulent beauty, my former splendor,
my elegance, my decadence, my sheer audacity
to taunt inevitability. I was unsinkable!
Yet here I lie-- a sunken heap 'neath the salt'd waves
so cold, so deep, a titanic, solemn shelter,
my sweeping strands, now host to auquatic creatures' creep.
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