5.11.12 The Call of the Sea

I leaned over the pier, pretending a spyglass was in my hand.

And the ships, I imagined they were mine.

Then Mum was there, reaching out, draging me away.“Beware the call of the sea.  The sweet rocking of waves will murder you, my son!”

The rifles, the canons, the screams.   

Our mast has fallen.  Our flag has burned.  Blood runs down my face, my chest, my hands.

The waves reach up to claim me.  Colored red, smeared with bodies.

Death beckons beneath the waves. 

Mother’s warning echoes.

There’s no sweetness here.  The sea is bloodthirsty.  The sea is murder.