"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
And we go back to the wine dark sea.
Carried by these little ghosts beneath the Hull,
A mist of memories that heard our plea.
We, the last boat of lost men –
pieces of a muddy past.
Look back on to an embery hell
as Apollo’s horses dance us fast
Away along the skyline.
Pulling carts of warm sunlight.
His gift of cover, a veil of dark.
As our sea-worn hearts again can fight.
A little wind, a little push
A God’s breath against a blind man’s screams.
White sails are a secret surrender to our fate —
As six more ships are carried to a land of dreams.
The sun will bury them in gold,
And wrap them in an emrald ocean.
Scylla’s jaws will make a tight-shut grave.
While our leaders Pride will be our death-marked potion.