THE BURNING SHIP

It's raining today, which is surprisingly welcome. There's something so familiar about a rainy day, especially in Britain. I'd miss it if I lived somewhere sunny.

Given the drizzly beautiful weather, it was tough to get up and get going this morning. In the end I made the lengthy commute from the bedroom to the study (stopping off at the bathroom) and wrote a poem I wasn't expecting.

This one's all about letting go, especially of the most beautiful things. The older I get the more I realise how difficult and how necessary that is. Everything, every thing, should be held lightly. Some years ago, my friend captured this idea by burning a wooden ship in the hearth and photographing it. I thought I'd write something to go along with that thought:

The Burning Ship

The waters turned in darkness
The billows burned with light
Where timbers snapped with fire
In the darkness of the night
The wooden ship abandoned to
The spitting hull and deck, where
Flames around the bowsprit
Carried glory to its wreck

The splintered masts were cracking
And the flames were leaping high
The fire along the wooden beams
Licked thirsty through the sky
The sails curled ever tighter
As the starboard wind took flight
And pushed the lantern vessel
Through the watches of the night

I saw the smoke ball upward
I watched the ship ablaze
I saw its former beauty
Through a dark and dreadful haze
A trail of fire consuming
All the glories it had seen
Now a craft of fire and ember
Where its splendour should have been

And I saw the waters turning
Under fire, wind, and stars
Where forgotten things are burning
In this changing world of ours
And the ship upon the ocean
For the bold, and by the brave
Was the heart of my surrender
Sinking soft beneath the waves