Barnacles
Sunken shipsAnd long bleached skulls,
Icy lips
Of ghostly trulls.
Rip tide rips
Hard at old hulls,
Timber drips
With barnacles.
Phantoms sway
Upon this shore
Night and day
Forever more.
Artic terns
Glide on the breeze,
One heart burns
Beyond the seas.
Midnight moans
Come from these skulls,
All my bones
Are barnacles.
Poetry by Achernar
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Written on 2010-01-01 at 20:02
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