deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sinking Ships
My heart stopped for one-thousandth of a second
resuscitated by chimes of St Thomas Church,
peeling hope from eternal tides.
We became the rainfall
sluicing across bows of burly tankers
lost in the Atlantic dark.
We wrote our names in sand
holding still in our time,
before clocks crashed from harbour gallows.
Building ships, forever,
or so it seems,
when we should be diving for pearls.
resuscitated by chimes of St Thomas Church,
peeling hope from eternal tides.
We became the rainfall
sluicing across bows of burly tankers
lost in the Atlantic dark.
We wrote our names in sand
holding still in our time,
before clocks crashed from harbour gallows.
Building ships, forever,
or so it seems,
when we should be diving for pearls.
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