the rain shattered any illusions of safety
as we clung to the mast for our lives;
Davy Jones was coming, incensed by his scorned lover
Calypso, goddess of the sea, you have loyalty to none but yourself
or so the legends go;
did you cast him aside, setting him on a path of eternal warfare,
knowing that he would follow your words out of love,
as the stories all go -
or was there a deeper meaning behind it all,
meant for his heart only while you watched him sail,
setting typhoons against his enemies
crewing his ship with the damned, knowing his authority would tame them
and waiting, locket in hand, for your love to return
as sure as the tide turns.
perhaps we judge too soon, scrutinizing the worlds of the otherworldly
comparing them to our own stories and passing sentences
as swiftly as a blade.
she left me with a pistol and a kiss,
her bare ankles still wet with sand
her hat at her side in a trembling hand.
the shouts of her men rose above the gulls
calling for their captain to take the helm;
how did I come to be where I am,
standing on a lonesome beach with naught but
my heart in her hands?
think of me when the tides turn, she would whisper
though her eyes were already on the horizon.
I never wondered where she went,
for she always returned home
following the writing in the sand.
hoist the colours high,
lay waste to the fields of cannon fodder that await us
preying on the criminals and outcasts, they'd have us fold.
but do we look like the bending type, I wonder?
there is nowhere to hide when we make port;
the cold rum, the warm women
we take what we please, leave nothing left
hellbent and tanning the hide of his majesty's finest
trailing behind as his majesty's gutted.
the screams of why carrying our sails to new waters
never understanding that we need no why -
masters of our freedoms, aye,
under the warmth of the sun and spray of the breeze.
not every hand on deck has felt the steel of the king,
not every eye has burned with something greater
and still, the questions fall upon our ears, louder than cannon ringing
and so I say this:
embark upon a journey, sailing the waters of your own mind
and when you reach the gates of the other side,
could you answer truthfully that a life of stalemates
was all you ever wanted?
hoist the colours high,
we do not need to hide
when we go to the Locker on the other side.
she sang of seashells by the seashore
he whispered hoarsely, begging her for more.
all the tales of the high seas that you told me
came true the moment you left me at the quay.
a broken heart turns black when left alone
cracked and sunken, worn to the bitter bone.
trickling through the hull, seeping like the cold,
biding her time while the men searched for their true loves - gold.
they all scuff, a woman should not be here,
'tis bad luck on all of us - the men disappear!
nay, sailor, you're only half true.
you see, I care naught for what you accrue -
only that I shall see your hearts laid bare
eyes rife with horror, as if you already knew.
she sang of seashells by the seashore
he whispered hoarsely, begging her no more.
I left my will in an unusual way;
a message in a bottle, set a drift at the beginning of a summer's day.
for my message was not for anyone of my home,
but for those of the same soul, who appreciated the sea spray and foam.
I did not detail gold nor treasure,
but left words of wisdom, and a smile, for good measure.
when Davy Jones comes to my door
and my soul must be sea-bound forever more,
I must bid you caution before adieu,
and I leave you with my words to chew:
not all treasure is gold and silver,
not every mermaid will leave you bewildered
when the music of the sea falls deaf upon your ears,
recall the spray of the water and the blush of the horizon.
when your self has been stolen, and all meaning is black,
take what is yours, steal yourself back.
do not lose your heart, nor lock it away -
one day you'll want it, on a dark and dreary day.
when raising a sword, take consideration of your fate:
why fight, when you can negotiate?
and when your experiences come to pass as memories, remember this forever:
I never regret.
a mutiny never begins with a number
it begins with a spark, a darkness in the light
a belief that they are better
when order is key.
a mutiny bodes ill for the powers that be
a captain's blade running crimson in the oil-lamp light;
able bodies wasted for naught but a poor man's dream.
the conditions were clear; fight or be fought, and the captain does not lose.
in a game of die, a pair is a clear winner;
so with the darkened skies came the lighting of the fires
and the harking of the crows.
the leering of the loyal betrayed the grimness of the deck
and those considered friends were parted by the waves
weighed down with the folly of their decisions and stamped by the captain
left in the arms of the Locker;
when the horizon began to crack, and the gulls touched down to awake them
the last man standing stood before the wheel
a touch of dawn in their eyes;
aye, their story was not over.
it was just beginning.
one foot in the water,
dare I race after your retreating back?
how the wind screamed when you bade me farewell
how the rum flowed heavily through your veins.
the face of flames scored my mind, thick in my heart
I will follow to world's end
to the sandy beaches of nowhere
my mettle will be stronger than the sea
launching my prow into the hard waters of the world
no captain will outrace me
no ship will outgun me
no crew will override me
and when the waters come to claim me as their own
Davy Jones will greet me as equal
for none could sway the pirate that you have left in my heart.
write letters to me, mailed to the waves
scratched bottles filled with swelling words
dusty from waiting for the tide, cleansed in the sea
pleading words, will you wait for me?
I cannot prevent my love from sailing,
his heart belongs to those glistening eyes;
and what I won was given freely to sea
what I treasured was taken freely by the sea
I cannot love the waters as they do,
I cannot feel the way the sailors do
when all of my self has been taken from me
as all storms do.
the sheets tumble around me,
the smell of sweat and salt envelopes me
the stifled snores of the babe sifts through the door;
what is it like, to be the king of the sea
resting on the bosoms of mermaids and gold coins
a crew worthy of Davy Jones' redemption,
sails made of ivory and magic
the wooden hull carving the waters like a knife to a pig
I cannot bear the land without your hands
this house is empty, waiting on the cliffs of the sea
every horizon a new heartache,
another reminder that you do not, truly, belong to me.
what is it like, to be the king of the sea -
your love a land walker, longing to be a goddess
your child, a beacon of home
when your crew docks at Tortuga
ale in one, a woman in the other -
I cannot bear the land without your hands,
and so I rest my mind on the waters
a prayer to the powers that be
to bring back my heart's bounty safely to me
why have you abandoned me!
left torn and bleeding, salt crusting my wounds
asunder and gutted, crawling through hell
dragged by the soul, shot through the spirit eye
I am not longer a part of the sea.
you drowned me in your wickedness
left howling on the tide
I cannot feel the sea any longer, crushed with the weight of land;
let me go, let me free,
I am bound by my love and cursed to tidal pools
where I fester, acid tears bleaching what is left of me.
I would haunt you like the sea wench I am
to quell your lust for the waters I was born upon
spiteful and grim, dashed against the rocks
milky bosom suffocation you, sending your rolling eyes
to my love of the sea;
for you never had my lust
when you abandoned me.