St. Elmo's Fire (original version)

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    St. Elmo's Fire (original version)

    St. Elmo’s Fire

    Authors Note: This is the original version of St Elmo’s fire that I wrote in 2001-
    Among my friends there is some arguments of whether this version is better, or my 2007 rewrite of it is better.
    I would like your opinion. Wolf ,’’, ^@@^ ,’’,

    St Elmo’s Fire (original version)

    Beneath the sea lay mysteries of things, which are not told
    Perhaps the beast of yesteryear in unreachable depths do roam
    Yet this tale is not about the depths of sea, nor creatures that lay within
    Tis a tale of disappearances, which do happen without end

    Twenty men in storm locked waters within a fishing boat
    Cower within their wooden shelters as unseen hand do grope
    Their sails are battened and tethered against the storms great fury
    Yet of the storm is not their terror, for these are men, sailors and sturdy

    Every thing which lay about them is different and yet the same
    Yet something within the heart of them certainly has now changed
    For though now they lay in darkness of a black unnatural night
    Mere minutes ago had been six bells in a day, which had dawned bright

    Happily they had lain about with line and hook and net
    Boisterous voices calling out as all their traps were set
    The day was fresh as were the men, hoisting their sails on high
    Enjoying the morning rituals as the waters whispered by

    Yet the sea had other ideas, and had set a trap of It’s own
    Within the triangle called Bermuda, where many strange things do roam
    First the dead fish lifted whereon to float upon the water
    The Sea then began to glow, as the sky grew ever darker

    The sails boomed and filled with wind, where before had been only a breeze
    Two men were then lost over board to graves within the deeps
    The rest of the men groped for the sails as the mast began to bend
    For if it snapped upon itself, then surely it would be the end

    The Radioman sent calls for help, he was screaming frantically
    Though sadly his cries they went unheeded, by any but the Sea
    The motors of the ship rumbled up, with the sails now battened tight
    Then roaring and spewing sparks and smoke, blew up and took another life

    The rain screamed down in twisted knots blended in with ice
    The men took shelter within the hold of the ship, a ship now filled with fright
    They huddled now upon wooden planks, afraid of all things of metal
    For things of metal now threw sparks, Hissing and spitting like a teakettle

    Two men had heeded the captain not, refusing his order to remove watch and ring
    They lay now upon the wooden planks, writhing in a death dance of agony
    None dared to touch or help them now, lest they risk suffering their terrible fate
    They looked now upon their dying comrades, with a mixture of pity, a pinch of hate

    Where before there had been twenty-three, merely survived a scant eighteen
    Sitting in a circle holding hands like children, and touching knee to knee
    Singing songs they had learned as kids in church, and praying all silently
    Songs they had once thought long forgotten in their lives upon the sea

    Tears streamed down their weathered faces, as their masks of death slid into place
    They now made peace with their maker, accepting their deaths with a pinch of grace
    Hopes and dreams now abandoned, they settled their sins and began to wait
    For the end of terror, the end of life, the final moment which would seal their fate

    Until

    A man screamed out yet not in pain, but with a deep seeded sound of elation
    He danced around like a man possessed, by some kind of strange jubilation
    “Captain,” he begged, “look yonder I say, look all, Tis St. Elmo’s Fire!”
    Indeed he was right, for now in their sight; was the ship wrapped in streams of a pyre

    Yes the Patron Saint of Sailors, had broken the gloom, and now hoisted he his colors
    A thing rumored he does over ships he protects like a father or a brother
    The Saint danced upon the mast, the rail, he circled around the metal staves
    He danced to unheard music, as the sailors did dance, the dance of the brave

    Colored streamers and colored spheres, singing, abounded throughout the ship
    Embracing the battered surviving souls, as heartfelt thanks poured from their lips
    The darkness shrank, dispelled and lightened, coalescing into a soft white mist
    Which as it rose up from the water, formed into the semblance of a shaking fist

    Encased in the beauty of St. Elmo’s fire, the ship was bourn now quickly away
    With its cargo of eighteen sailors who still tell and swear to it to this day
    Now you however, may not believe it, and truthfully, you, I do not blame
    Yet five hardy sailors beneath my command, now reside in a watery grave

    And I myself ,attend a church of choice, one gifted with a very high spire
    Around my neck rests a medallion depicting,...of course...
    St. Elmo ...and his Fire

    Created by ANTHONY HOTOPP
    @OriginalCywolf@yahoo.com
    all rights reserved by ACH incorporated ach unpublished works 2001
    Reprint by: Anthony Hotopp
    All Rights Reserved: Copyright by ACH Inc.: Unpublished Works 2009 originalcywolf@hotmail.com originalcywolf2001@yahoo.com Also the following subsidiaries : knight_in_shining_karmaa enterprises ltd.: Hidie Pipes: Make Ready’s Inc.: Hidd-In Concepts: All divisions of: Ach Inc. and introducing:
    ,’’, ^@@^ ,’’,Wolf Productions Inc.: a new subsidiary of ACH Inc.

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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