Planks Of My Lost Ship

Planks Of My Lost Ship
© Surazeus
2025 02 09

Wood ships that once sailed wild seas of the world, 
bearing people to strange exotic lands, 
have all sunk in dark silence of the past, 
or wrecked on cold indifferent sands of fate, 
so treasures they bore across silver waves 
have faded from dim memories of the dead. 

This fertile land with hills of wind-swept trees, 
where light of timeless summer shimmers sweet 
in hair of children dancing on gold hills, 
consumes old ships laden with precious freight 
and spits their bones as piston-engined cars 
that race on highways of aggressive hope. 

Yet that shining moon, which illuminates 
city towers of steel and glass that sprout 
from Elysian fields of free summer play, 
gazes silently with indifferent eye 
on ships that sail the seas ten thousand years 
but almost weeps at their quick vanishment. 

For many centuries of the turning Earth 
my ancestors build wood boats with curved hulls 
on rational shores of ambitious pride, 
then sail down winding streams of restless time 
to explore every beach, bay, and headland 
that frills fractal edge of our global isle. 

Fate leaves me stranded on this nameless land, 
so I search obstacles of tangled woods 
for bright pool fed by quick fresh-water spring 
to found new city on one humble home 
which sprouts into metropolitan maze 
where millions chase flashing rainbow of wealth. 

With tender heart in lonely reverie 
I listen to wind-songs on surging waves 
to measure glory of our roving race 
that follows wonder of weird guiding stars 
in silver pathways on the restless sea 
to understand bright vision of old truth. 

Mute grief weighs heavy as dark mountain snow 
that glistens under pallid moon of fear 
to soothe old wounds of passion in my heart 
while I lie prone in garden of lost stars 
and sing mad sorrow of terrible truth 
with ache of laughter that heals me with love. 

Through dreamless dread of darkness on dead hills 
I search for wood ships on the silver sea 
but find they all sunk in grim gloom of time 
so I walk west over mountains and plains, 
soul cleansed of hate in sparkling prairie rain, 
to build new home from planks of my lost ship.