Sailing the Seas of "D" (Poem)

Disappointment- The death shroud of dank darkness, which colors drab every dream. Dubious plans which dastardly deafen the sounds of hope. Forlorn with a debaucherous deepening of deftly planted root systems. And so dense, that they will not quickly be removed from their death-grip. Demons do their dance of destruction atop my mizzen mast, as we float out upon the deep blue ocean, the twilight approaching daringly, and the day quickly diminishing into the oncoming onslaught of darkness.


And in that pitch-blackness, doubts have been cast upon our deeds. Our once grandiose and dashing plans have been damned to a diminutive state of dilettantism. For we are now left with simple musings, games of dice, studies of disease, and the foreboding dread of our deserved plight. Shipwrecked out at sea, and yet still floating aboard a decrepit vessel, whose inept ability to navigate the drink has left us buoyed and without direction, in an ever deepening and sorrowful destination.


As such, each sailor is left to divert his damaged demeanor or drum-up some hopeful enterprise to distract him from this humdrum state-of-affairs. And how dare anyone demur the dutiful happenstance of a sailor's habits of avoidance whilst dealing with a pending state of destruction. For death smiles upon us all, and we all must decide how we will respond to its distinct beckoning upon our delegated allotment of time.


For do not make the mistake of dealing with dissonance while not expecting to be deceived. Because death-dealers dole out densely packed disciplines to mutinous sailors at sea. And our tale has arrived at its final denouement, where the din of its climax will dwindle and dull. And what you are unaware of is that earlier in their voyage, our sailors dealt in dastardly and doltish devices. For they had partaken of a gambling affair, deep within the ship's bowels, the casting of lots, deceitfully in the dimness.


For neither Captain, nor the first officer, nor any other in command was diligently informed of the defiant diatribes of insolence carried out by this wanton and merry drove. But nonetheless, those deeds did seal their death. For it drove them upon a determined course. And created a dearth of unfavorable circumstances from which there is no turning back.


And with the final death-blow, our vessel dipped into the bitter sea. It's damaged hull taking on such a detrimental rate of water, that it sank ever more deeply. So it's every man for himself, as the ship's decks darken under the ocean's density, with no other destination to be delivered, except Davey Jones's Locker.

So long to our sailors, it's been a long and dismal voyage. And the moral of this story is do not deceptively deal in derisive and dastardly deeds, covered in darkness, whilst doling out deathly destructions.