Black Embued Black

As black imbued black, so was rendered the pitch of darkness
That befogged the waters of this grave
And too the dank, until now forgotten ship that
Did little to grace these forlorn waters.

Yet here swam I, seemingly first to tread these weed-ridden waters
Since times when life had quickly blessed this ocean.
But for being lost in solitude - as does this ship -
Would I not have happened across this morbid scene.

And though detail rendered barely visible to my naked eye –
For desperately had the moon tried to break through this jet fog –
A sense of something suffused the place.
Was it those tormented spirits desperate for absolution,
Or perhaps the treasures teasing me on whether they be of value or not?

I was drawn to the oak hull as it enticingly placed in passage for me.
The plank called from down the nave and through the pale orange of rust
- that which could only be mustered from the few discoloured, fallen trinkets.
Could I also hear a distant choir of stern voices, as if in effort to scold me for approaching?

As I approached, those tarnished windows came into view.
Standing erect with gargantuan pride, they bore down on me with patronizing air -
Exaggerated by the disjointed sneering of skeletons,
As if to state that insignificant I, had no grant of solace.

In answer, I steadied my swimming skills and racing mind to wonder of this scenario.
And in doing so, I found myself waking from a cramped dream –
When the message dawned: mine had been such a claustrophobic life.
Like this ghost ship of my dreams.