Upon The Ship
We are always going and never stopped. The ship is moving - but lo - we are held fast. There is no captain, the captain is gone… The ship is dashed against the rocks. Where is the captain? The sky is grey. But still, we go. How can something move without moving? Empty motion. The sound of water. The ship continues on, invisibly. A fog has set in… The men are pallid. They appear and disappear in the gloom like ghosts. Pale faces out of the grey. The creaking of the hull. They are stuck aboard the ship. We are stuck aboard the ship. Supplies are running low, supplies are running out. The fog has thickened… And yet the men man their posts. The wheels are turned, the oars are rowed. A great deal of activity on the decks. Ants upon rotting husk. Hands bound again and again to the ropes. They see the wood falling from the body of the ship and sometimes they stop to watch. It lands in the water and the splash echoes. But the fog. They must keep to the oars and the ropes. There is fighting sometimes in the lower decks… musty air, dank and wet. Water sloshing about their feet. You fall in, an inch deep, you drown. The food is running out. Here and there a man sits down and does not rise. There is no wind to move the sails. The journey over. Those who remain go back still to their posts, they go back to their work. But the journey is over. The fighting stops. The fog is breaking, fading away. The crew stands on the upper deck. There is light… The men who remain raise their hands to shield their eyes. They do not turn from the light. They break through… Ice and snow and bitter wind. And not a sound.