Aground

Aground

An old steamer

Beached at high tide

A rusting bucket

With sprung seams

Splintered pride

Upended on the sand

Exposing itself.

A soft underbelly

Partially torn

The hole in the hull

A jagged, ragged

Entrance

To its now stilled heart.

Picked clean by parasites

Overgrown with weeds

The detritus of life

Replaced by a belly full of decay

A collision of silence

An accident of regret.

A pointless monolith

Helplessly hoping

To be freed

By the relentless

Pull of the sea

Undermining its position,

Lifting its sad

Old bones,

Dragging them back

Inch by desperate inch.

A final journey

An eventual reclamation

At rest in the arms

Of indifference,

Lying in suspension

Waiting for

Animation to emerge

From the flounder

Of its own,

Sorrowful demise

A mourner

At its own funeral.