I feel the water lapping against my sides, frigid fingers stroking my
very core.  The wind blows hauntingly through my sails, singing stories of
long ago.  The sun takes her final bow as the curtain of rain falls, and the
gulls screech their agony.

 

 
Deep within, a slender form sits hunched over a scrap of parchment. 
The quill in his ink stained hand scratches lightly over the paper.  He is a
poetic soul with the heart of an explorer.  A chocolate curl strays over his
forehead, but in his concentration he does not even notice.  A tormented angel
slumbers close by in his bed, and the writer turns to gaze at him for
inspiration.  His face is framed with a golden halo, and his slight frown
speaks of a turmoil he will never consciously know again.

 

Deep within, a grizzled old sailor lounges by a table, his calloused
hands whittling a delicate figure.  His mind drifts to his wife and children
back home.  He has seen so many men, younger than he, lose their lives, die in
his arms.  He hopes his final words of comfort to them are sufficient, for he
is not an eloquent man.  He is grateful, and guilty, that he is alive.
Deep within, a young crewman sleeps soundly in his hammock.  He
endures the teasing from his fellow shipmates because he, like they, know that
this is the only way they can express their friendship and care.  He dreams of
warm beaches and tropical fruit, and the brilliant turquoise water of the
Indies.

 

Deep within, an officer puts on his cape to ready himself for another
night of duty.  He serves his captain and his crew well.  He is a mentor, an
advisor and a friend.  Yet there is a distant quality that surrounds him, and
at times, his pale blue eyes are so far away.  When he stands on the immaculate
deck, he cannot help but remember the blood and bodies once strewn in total
chaos.  He will be strong, because he is needed.
Deep within, a pair of tired hands lay out instruments in a room that
smells of death.  So many times he has heard the cries of pain and despair,
and could only ease, not prevent, the way to eternal blessed sleep.  He reminds
himself of the days when he was young and idealistic, and chides himself for
his fatalistic attitude. 

 

Deep within, a noble man with hidden passions reads quietly by his
bedside.   His face is a mask of dignity and control, betraying nothing.  He
relaxes his shoulders after a day of maintaining his rigid stance.  While he
tells himself otherwise, he longs for the companionship of others, of laughing
young spirits full of life and love.  He is a pillar of respect, a beacon of
admiration.  He is wise, a leader who guides and teaches as well as commands.
The burden of war lies heavily upon his shoulders.
Sometimes at night I can hear the panting of sweat slickened bodies
pushed against my walls.  Murmurs of love and devotion from soft lips,
moistened with salty juices.  Quiet whispers as frantic fingers clutch and
caress.  I share in their soundless cries of ecstasy as much as I partake in
their pain and suffering. 

 
They treat me with such care, keep custody of every board, every nail.
My fittings are polished to a shine, my cannons cleaned and prepared for the
coming onslaught.  My deck is swabbed with a loving touch.  A myriad of
sensations courses through me - the sharp clicking of polished shoes, the grip
of firm hands on my ropes, the thunderous  blast of enemy guns.  Men whisper my
name in their prayers.  Some call out my name in joy and sweet relief, others
in fear and dread.  I can fly across the waters like a seahawk in the sky.  The
bulk of my hull envelopes my crew, and I protect them, as they protect me, and
we are one.

FIN

 

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