Port

Words by: Karsol

A lonely ship sat by a port
and took its rest between the stars
and my repose, morose, the sort
of night where that scent of cigars
would linger in the air and court
the smoke to seep so sweetly deep
beneath the alleyways; could they
still see inside the wounded keep?
Perhaps it’s fate, that ship’s decay
and rotting wood is sad to see,
a journey laden far away
to rest on what this ship could be.