Ruthless waves dug salty graves,
As dozens faced their doom--
Destroyed the ships in splintered strips
To make the sea our tomb.
The Cross was scoured and I, the coward,
Stayed right where I was hid;
I was afraid! The whole town paid
For what the preacher did.
Face down in mud and coughing blood,
the priest lay on the ground
With moan and yelp - yet none would help
(They feared they would be drowned).
Tucker sputtered, coughed and muttered,
"Children -- I implore,
Help your priest! Have me released,
And kill that gypsy whore!
Yet they refused; they stood accused
Of what was Tucker's sin,
He wanted flesh, nubile and fresh --
Why should they save his skin?
As for me, I had to flee:
Lest I depart this world,
Devoid of pride, I do confide:
My panic long unfurled.
The aftermath of gypsy's wrath
Left few of us behind;
At tide's recede, the town was freed,
Though near to hell consigned.
And I, concerned, on foot returned
To help my wounded friend,
I found, instead, the priest was dead;
He'd finally met his end.
I took to home at evening's gloam
With empty, blank expression,
Then took to quill, wrote up my will
And penned this last confession.
I, Benjamin (as writ within)
My mind and body whole,
On bended knee, I pray to thee:
Save my immortal soul.
[fin]
----
- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015
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