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The spirits of bygone pirates still seek revenge on the high seas. |
Spirits of pirates of yore, these waters still roam, Scimitars ready to spit the unwary knaves. There, perched astride, on swell with hissing cap of foam, A renewed revenge, some heinous blood price he craves. The waters crash and roar, the vessel plays jump rope with the swells, the horizon judders and recedes. Under a weary violet shadowed sky, my hope Pendulum swings; fear grows, upon itself it feeds. Clouds swing low, menacing brows of blackened silver, Grumbling thunder threatens assault with lances bright, Piteous sounds, others crying out for succour - Innards plummet, terror rides the high seas tonight. Craven, I surrender to the scallywag's trick – I heave, I retch, once more - miserably sea-sick! 12 syllables per line, abab cdcd efef gg rhyming pattern, not quite a sonnet! (I am assuming 'violet' is two syllables for the purpose of this write. That's called poetic licence! |