Spirits of pirates of yore, these waters still roam,
Scimitars ready to spit the unwary knaves.
There, perched astride, on swell with hissing cap of foam,
A renewed revenge, some heinous blood price he craves.
The waters crash and roar, the vessel plays jump rope
with the swells, the horizon judders and recedes.
Under a weary violet shadowed sky, my hope
Pendulum swings; fear grows, upon itself it feeds.
Clouds swing low, menacing brows of blackened silver,
Grumbling thunder threatens assault with lances bright,
Piteous sounds, others crying out for succour -
Innards plummet, terror rides the high seas tonight.
Craven, I surrender to the scallywag's trick –
I heave, I retch, once more - miserably sea-sick!
12 syllables per line, abab cdcd efef gg rhyming pattern, not quite a sonnet!
(I am assuming 'violet' is two syllables for the purpose of this write. That's called poetic licence!)
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