Mirage

A short poem about the demise of the S.S. Titanic by a cold air mirage.

You say you did not lie when I met my demise.

That you had no recognition of what was to come.

But within brutal cold and heated pain,

Death came disguised in the beauty of a billion dancing stars-

A clear night that laid me in my grave.

While you waited close, knowing nothing of my end. 

Author's Note

Warm air on top of cold air will change how light is refracted due to differing densities, creating mirages- like a mirage that disguised the iceberg within a seemingly raised horizon. Another ship was close by that night, but never realized it was the Titanic, due to the the right (or wrong) weather phenomena