A sailor’s epitaph.

Rest, you say, in peace,
rust away in peace!
All I ever did was rest into pieces;
I’m dead of it.

I know, I know, too late,
the clock has struck
and my mortal wisp is doomed
to eternity, slowly descending
into elemental
entropic stupor.

But even Achilles, brave Achilles,
would rather have risen and returned
as chattel than rule over
those resting in peace.

I want trouble to get out of,
love to fall into, happen to stance,
luck to stroke, good or bad,
it’s all the same to me.

If I’m doomed to rest,
let it be fitful, at least, full of
desire unquenched, fortune
unclaimed.

All these trials, these wounds,
are closer to heaven
than moldering nothing
without light or darkness,

changeless.

True death is the
timeless, the changeless,
the big zero.

3 thoughts on “A sailor’s epitaph.

  1. If this is a double post, apologies. I love the rollicking defiance of this poem. It’s how any hero worth his salt ought to face mortality. I hope you had as much fun writing it as we now have in reading.

  2. I agree with the person above. This was a fun read. Quite rhythmic. I have no rhythm so that might not be the best standard to judge on. Either way, great poem.

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