The Commander


A plume-feathered commander
Sailing the seas of my youth.
Naval commission and ship-
Nothing to fear, on sea or land.
With loyal crew, I laid waste to drink spots
Along the sand.
Maids bore bastards in my wake;
There was no limit to the chances I would take.
Tired of my unsung campaign,
I rode winds to make it across the straight.
A tempest took upon my ship, far from shore.
Waves crashed the hull, wind tore the sails-
My fine vessel, upturned, sank deep down
To where darkness prevails.
Glory past, former brave,
Death is such; flesh rots in a watery grave.
Shipwrecked, fish-eaten, bones picked white clean;
Never again
To ever be seen.

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