The ceremony of innocence
Such wonder and misunderstanding
for an innocent to witness,
to watch,
to take part in the unravelling
of a human soul,
the loss of a mind,
the numbing of a conscience.
Such confusion as the ship,
once so steadfast as it sped with the wind,
starts to roll.
Hardly noticeable at first,
a slight suspicion of unease.
And then a little worse,
clearly not even keeled,
but dismissed as a consequence of the tide
and an irregular wind,
soon to be restored to normality.
Palms begin to sweat
when the ship does not right itself
for nay,
it is now listing hard.
Perhaps a leak.
All the best men below deck!
Their combined experience no match
for such a trifling inconvenience.
Some bailing,
some joinery,
she’ll be back on course.
Yet as the foolish sailors run below deck,
confident in their naivety,
the vessel tilts hard to starboard.
The sound of falling pots and pans echoes
through its warrenous interior
as the true extent of the damage
begins to dawn.
It is far worse than any could have guessed.
Frantic shouts ring out.
Someone bleats “how far are we from land?”
as panic sets in.
The damage is severe.
It has crept unseen in the darkness
whilst the crew enjoyed the sun on deck.
The captain must have known.
Surely he knew.
Support beams have been compromised.
The sinking of the ship,
the flagship of the fleet,
is almost certain.
No more can be done.
Flee to the life boats!
Save what you can!
She has begun to go under.
Sanity and innocence
are lost in her descent.
Ropes must be cut -
recoiling violently -
to salvage what little they can
from the depths.
A lucky few make it to the lifeboat,
a creaky,
brittle vessel
left too long in the sun.
No longer fit for purpose.
And besides,
they had never learnt to row.
But row they must,
frantically
towards the shore.
The haunting vision
of their vessel’s demise torments them
as they
stroke,
stroke,
stroke,
exhausted
towards the shore.
She is gone now.
Not even the mast remains.
Her sinking drifts
on the edges of their dreams.