Into this pit of captains I stare,
Down into the depths of my most shallow dreams,
Appear the ripples of my despair,
And all my worries gleam.
Falling back into the green of smoke and haze,
Into the havens my mind does glaze.
And in the corner of my praying eye,
A steeple does slash that holy sky.
Below sits captain perched on his pitted rock,
No calls to answer, no ships to dock.
In the distance tolls the bobbing bells,
No more coconuts, nor foreign shells.
Above I lay falling and fell from my fallen grace,
A collection plate taken, from that holy place.
Pockets lined with burden and guilt,
Cast from mind, my memories silt.
This pit of captains sits upon one memory sill,
Next to that repentant cross, that place of good will.
And in the grass where once a boy did lie,
I remember that captain, from days gone by.
Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.