The day finds its demise,
Tossing and turning,
My rest is interrupted by eldritch fingers,
Emanating a foul energy,
Tentacles in my mind,
I dream of fathoms deep,
To airless environs,
Where even fish dare not venture,
Waters claimed by spectres and arcane chants,
Where the sun and sanity both drown,
Something stirs,
Eyeing the surface with a million oculi,
A million definitions of mad hunger,
Watching a world it seeks to extinguish,
A million maws curling into grins.
Groups of people are ships,
Ironclad vessels built upon hulls of teamwork,
Did you know this?
Families and friendships and workforces,
They are crewmates on the same deck,
Sailing the same course,
To the same destination or goal,
Led by a captain of respect,
A person of veneration,
The rigging to the crews sails,
But humans are a fickle bunch,
Some souls have mutiny in their hearts,
They wish to hold the top spot,
So they drill holes in the hull,
Cut free the lifeboats,
And sabotage the rudder,
A rat-king prowling amongst the crew,
Pity this fool,
Who would sink the entire vessel,
Purely because they can’t be the captain.
Here I tell you a tale quite grim,
On this gelid autumn eve,
Of a vessel taken by the great blue,
A languid ship dubbed the Dead Jester,
Of no particular valour nor deed was this ship known,
Save for the incompetence of its circus of a crew,
Captained by a blind clown of advanced years,
A lookout unable to discern port from star,
And helmed by a mute convicted maniac,
The locker had only to wait for its prize,
The waves have all the time in the world after all,
This abomination of a crew,
They were destined for the abyss,
They had no care for this fate though,
There were nightly mutinies over scraps,
Every malm travelled was stricken with insane discontent,
Clowns wrestled with jugglers over imaginary lifeboats,
One man carved a hole in the hull looking for god,
The ship obliged yet in the wrong direction,
As the terminal aspect of the vessel descended,
No souls of worth were lost,
None shall be missed or mourned.
