Lost stories

Its a wreck of a boat, beached,rotting,

long past saving.

Still it has a certain draw,

a certain beauty in it’s decaying carcass.

How long has it lain? Calling to the curious passersby

Slowly returning to the earth from which it was born.

Nature reclaiming what is her’s.

What stories could be told of the years of it’s use,

of the storms that it rode out on the seas.

Of it’s hard use and the hard men who walked it’s deck,

their lives leeching into it’s boards

over the course of it’s life and theirs.

Sweat and blood, tears and laughter.

Even the songs that found voice becoming part of the planking.

It’s life at sea has ended, the stories locked within, lost forever,

perhaps someone might someday lay a hand on it’s remains

and sense it’s secrets, maybe.

Perhaps more than just an old boat rotting.