Out in the deep where seafarers dare,
Entombed in blankets of ghostly steel,
Out in the deep where goblins dance,
And headless horsemen mount their steeds,
Where the Godless howl through the night
‘Til morning comes through the air be stilled.
Harbors with their smiles and extended arms,
Not heard or seen by the eyes of the unholy,
As Misty Island sits alone in her private hell.
As fishermen gather at the pub by the shore,
Stories of her treachery are passed around.
“She’s the devil cast into the sea.”
“She steers the ships into her jagged rocks.”
“She laughs at the sound of twisted steel.”
The drunker they get,
The more the stories grow.
Maybe she is of kindness and congeniality.
Maybe her shores are of powdery white sand.
Maybe she is the answer to a Utopian dream.
Maybe the fishes jump into the boats.
Maybe she is a new heaven made of fertile soil,
With vegetables, flowers and endless vineyards.
Maybe she is what the fishermen dream about;
What they wish their life to be on shore.

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Robert L. Martin
about 2 years

I love the way you analyze my poems. Familiarity breeds compatibility and love. Thank you Nelson.

Nelson D Reyes
about 2 years

You dream you hope, heaven on your mind you begin to have faith, you have kindness and are ccngenial you have love. With all this you’d begin to like the “godless, headless horsemen and dance with the goblins”. And likely they would return the favor because you’ve shown them what faith, hope and charity are all about.
That Misty Island would truly be a place the fishermen dream about.

Love this. Thanks Robert.

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