The Smuggler
We are criminals,
We are dead men walking,
Smugglers and felons all,
A pall falls over our vessel,
A dark mist,
A palpable guilt,
As if the sea knows our illicit purpose,
A distant lighthouse stands guard,
Its light is our doom,
The tension is tangible,
The white coast is a reminder that we are outcasts,
The cliffs tell us we are doomed,
The chines call with a foil behind their backs,
The surf tries to drag us to the gallows,
Our vessel a prize for the law,
Our cargo a trophy for Customs,
The disquietude is discernible,
Waves lash at the hull like blades,
A far-off sentry spies us,
The sea knows,
The sea grins.
WorldofHarley 