The Abyss

Beneath waves rolling
cross the ocean,
sunlight stabs the deep.
Light wanes to dark,
the current stills,
a thousand fathoms
crush the ocean floor.

Here rests a shattered hulk
of wood, hemp, canvas,
masts snapped and tangled
in the rigging.
Down this black, this cold,
the hull is clear
of barnacles and decay.

Twenty men lie sleeping,
never dreaming,
in their bunks.
The helmsman,
frozen at the wheel,
grimaces a final gasp
of cold, clear water.

Scott Speck
06/14/99