Curse the Wash
Curse the wash of weeping,
That would send me to the grave,
Head in hands,
In lightless lands—
But jetsam on the wave.
Curse the undercurrent,
To damnation and beyond,
A drunken spin,
That pulls within,
The proneness to despond.
Curse the heartless breakers,
That would see my breathing mute,
Without refrain,
Bermuda drain,
By old temptation’s fruit.
Curse the moon’s sad tidings—
“Ye are lost and damned at sea,
Away with hope,
Ye sorry dope,
With fate condemning thee!”
Curse the starless heaven,
Now bereft and dumb as sand,
Bereaved and numb,
And stricken glum,
Abjuring God’s command.
Curse the soulless winter,
That would send a frost of fear,
The biting chill,
That does me ill,
Exhorting — disappear!
Curse the foam and spittle,
Flown from out the waves of time,
A bitter breath,
The touch of death,
A hellishness sublime.
ADL
adamdaniel 