Burial at Sea

I fancy myself a grand dame of a ship. 

A graceful frigate gliding silently into some unknown battle. 

I brace my port and steady my starboard for the magnificent scene to come.

Cannonballs fly like some holy rain.

Only the god of war smiles at this exchange.

My elegant beams are torn asunder, 

laid to waste by an unfeeling enemy.

When at last the acrid smoke has cleared,

my splintered remains reach their drowning hands above the surface.

In vain it seems,

no purchase can be found.

As the last of what I was sinks below the waves,

a few misplaced bubbles pop out of existence.

Those ill-fated silver spheres floating away are my last words.

They alone are my breathy acceptance and my tearful goodbye.

Then with a dampened thud, 

my bones join the frames of other great ships who met with tragedy.

Fat-bellied fish swim amongst our intermingled wreckage.

The quiet of the deep envelops me and the light grows dim.

A burial at sea.

What more could I ask?