Deep blue waters rush underneath
her prow, sails whipped and torn
in harsh, billowing windstorms
an angry tempest of clouds
beneath a white-hot, full moon
a sudden shift, bone-chilling cold breaking through
the breathless heat of a piercing sun.
Frothy waves violently rocking her hull
stern stabbing into sharp black rocks below
ripping her underbelly, tearing apart
her flesh, exposing her splintered insides
shattered pieces of raw timber torn from her deck.
They float among the smooth pink seashells
like so many footprints
memories sinking to rest
on the dark ocean floor
eventually, her raw debris
washing up onto shore
with the tide.
Written in response to the prompt over @Toads, a-sailing-we-will-go.
Copyright June 27 2016 Stacie Eirich