‘The Cyan Flag’
The year was sixteen-seventy,
___the season early spring;
our sail was set towards the West,
___for gold and God and King.
One evening as the sun went down
___and set the sea aflame,
“A sail, a sail! Ahoy, a sail!”
___I heard the watch exclaim;
and soon, beneath a cyan flag,
___the anti-pirates came.
They hove along our starboard side,
___and begged that we would board;
and when we would not kill them, then
___they offered up their hoard.
Despite our prayers they would not spare
___the gold and precious stones –
they loaded down our ship with loot,
___and then they sank their own.
Alas! We could not save them all –
___the seas were running high,
and though we offered ropes and boats
___they seemed content to die.
What could we do but leave them there?
___Where could we go, but on?
And so we set our course again,
___towards the setting sun.
That was my very first command,
___a lifetime past – and yet,
I see their faces in my dreams,
___and cannot quite forget
the vehemence with which they made
___their own good ship a wreck;
the trembling hand that gave us gold;
___the eager-proffered neck –
What drove them with such frenzy on?
___Why wished they so to die?
Where went the few we saved and freed?
___The sea may know; not I.
And still, sometimes, on midnight seas
___I scan the darkling view,
and far ahead it seems I spy
___the flag of cyan blue.
I failed yesterday and forgot to post a poem. I am going to attempt to manage two today, but there are no guarantees.
Cyan is a light, bright blue, diametrically across the colour wheel from red.