maybe im a blank stare,
in search of a ship,
it is unclear which
perhaps a new barrel of rum to fill,
a chasm inside,
clear and brightly undefined
with what force should i take,
the things that were never mine,
yet reside within?
some privateer or solemn captive,
swashbuckle and clank,
across the bendy plank,
similar to the argument laid forth.
a slip so slow it has taken a lifetime so far,
stillness infected all,
though compassion burned strong,
it has at least now become clear.
Davy and Jones were best of friends,
i swear it be true,
now locked in the metal cage where things were once stored
resting at the bottom of the world,
with breathe in our lungs we will soon float back up..
// a Weird Fish poem
