An Echo From The Sea

This old ship rode the Atlantic swells like a swan in a pond and her crew where dead, perhaps not at the time, but they are now, generations of sailors boarding her, using her as a place of sanctuary on their way to a destination unknown to them. And one by one, overcome by life they died and drifted on the sea of broken life- belts to the Saragossa where mist of sorrow covers the bleak shoreline of ruin and the ship that rust on a reef; and the seamen were dead perhaps not at the time, but they are now, in my mind they are a sepia damaged photo of forgotten moments.