Deafening Silence

‘Tis November, eighteen-ten
As I write with a quilled pen
Setting down the tale t’append:
A mis-communiqué and then
No answer there. Though memo send,
It meets with silence, and yet again
I wait in hope ‘til when is “when?”

Maybe apt for those whose passion
Lacks a partner for the action.
A letter sent, a writ attraction
Seeking answers in abstraction.
I wait in vain for interaction
Yet the missive meets inaction
As she ponders love’s transaction
Playing hearts to crush reaction.

Perchance she loves? But love unknown
Is masqued as hate’s rank seed is sown
And time doth pass. The spirits groan
As neither knows the other’s moan.
Passion unfulfilled, common tome
In all lives, a tale renown.
A thousand miles of spirit flown?
Scripts depart in ships alone.

Months it takes to render these
Lengthy time to hear from thee
It brings to mind those lost at seas
The stormy name, the name of she
Whose tempers rage at fragile he.
The autumn storms off Antilles
The silence borne of wild esprit.
Wayward, petty, and violent be.
 
He floats above the endless wrack
The burning sun whose kindness lacks
The common ruth of mercy. A tack
Draws nought appeasement or kind relack
But oppresses ships in irons slack.
South-southwest the wind did back
If there’s wind indeed to track
Ne’er did portents show so black.
 
My letter lies within the hold
In the dark ne’er to behold
The sun, in dampened naked cold.
A pensive message to be sold
A slave. Yet if the truth be told,
A tale beyond my ken unfolds: 
The ship itself lies in the dold-
Drums, anticipating bells be tolled. 

As per practice, bell is hit
Each four hours, the day is split
A sailor lounges on the sprit.
A lookout in the crow’s nest pit 
“All is clear” reports from it.
The day will wax in stifling heat
Hope for wind lies counterfeit
Naught to do but to submit.

Torrid air beyond belief
Sweating bodies, no relief
Oppressive in its power’d fief.
Flapping sails, sparse and brief,
Burning sands midst shallow reef.
The sun: a ruler, prince, khalif
Adoring her, his weather guaif
Making love to ocean thief.

Exit he from stage and then 
Her monologue will now begin:
The premiered burst, a gusting wind
Presaged stormy seed within,
Her raging at encroaching sin:
A ship whose umbrage inserted in
Her dominion. Light grows dim
And waves respond to gusty kin.

“All hands on deck!” the mate demands.
The crew obeys to his command.
The sea responds in reprimand:
Her waves arise, their height expands
Now foaming crests bewilder hands.
Scudding nimbi drape them and
Rain descends, judging the damned.
Deluge is more than men withstand.

The rolling ship, the crashing waves,
The willful drench of vagrant laves.
Hands are vital, sailors brave,
They try to challenge ocean’s rave.
The ship heads toward its empty grave
And the crew, their lives she craves.
Only one in ten are saved
Others with their lives, they gave.

A snapping spar, a mast asunder
Stove-in hull. Dare it confront her?
Vicious and offended hunter:
The sea is seeking prey and plunder.
And the boat and men go under
Leaving kin abroad to wonder.
Storm’s great passion, sailor’s blunder?
“’Tis Providence!” the preachers thunder.

A vessel drifting ‘round and ‘round.
Debris and wreckage thrown aground
Adrift in air, in sea are drowned.
My epistle, waves compound
Into their bosom: just the paper found
And faded ink in water drowned
That spoke of love and thence ‘tis bound.
Mute forever, the plaintive sound.

And I know my message since
May not have reached the far shores hence.
A loving picture from her thence,
Our blazing passion to commence? 
Or hateful missive, tone intense,
Sent to quell my love’s offense
Preferring spite to common sense,
Returned to crush lover’s defense.

While I live in bated tension
A few last things deserve their mention.
Can I think of her dissension?
Or her love: ‘twas my invention?
Did she write and pledge intention?
Just to see her note’s abstention?
Drowned by she in whose dimension
Script resigned to her retention?

Mayhap, love in her reply
Succumbed like mine to ocean’s cry?
The spark, the life of love say “bye”?
A whimper, moan or worse, a sigh
Were borne of souls whose love would die
Until they both believed the ocean’s lie
As she whose wrath on those who try
To pass beyond their shores of nigh.