53° 19' N; 60° 25' W
Mary how I miss you so,
Even now, as the crew hasten to tie down the rigging I sit here in my cabin dreaming of you.
The wind is kicking up a storm darling and I fear the worst.
We are somewhere off the coast of the Americas, though where I do not know, as the rain makes it hard to see the bow of the boat let alone the land beyond.
The fate of this voyage appears sealed beyond measure, and the morale of the crew is all but spent. We ran out of fruit two months ago, the meat lasted a few weeks longer, and the water is running as thin as our blood. Just last night Earnest Rogers, your dear old friend from Corke, was swept overboard and into the reckless night.
How this letter will reach you I do not know, but to not write it would be a crime.
I am now eye-steady with the dark blue depths. I am sure of their muderous intent.
It is too late in the day now for lady luck to guide our way.
No piece of land is worth the tears in your eyes when you hear of my fate at sea.
I am lost and I know it. Mary, I love you.
I wish to god I had only listened when you warned me from this voyage.
I will be yours until the end of time,
O. S. Blake
Even now, as the crew hasten to tie down the rigging I sit here in my cabin dreaming of you.
The wind is kicking up a storm darling and I fear the worst.
We are somewhere off the coast of the Americas, though where I do not know, as the rain makes it hard to see the bow of the boat let alone the land beyond.
The fate of this voyage appears sealed beyond measure, and the morale of the crew is all but spent. We ran out of fruit two months ago, the meat lasted a few weeks longer, and the water is running as thin as our blood. Just last night Earnest Rogers, your dear old friend from Corke, was swept overboard and into the reckless night.
How this letter will reach you I do not know, but to not write it would be a crime.
I am now eye-steady with the dark blue depths. I am sure of their muderous intent.
It is too late in the day now for lady luck to guide our way.
No piece of land is worth the tears in your eyes when you hear of my fate at sea.
I am lost and I know it. Mary, I love you.
I wish to god I had only listened when you warned me from this voyage.
I will be yours until the end of time,
O. S. Blake
posted by osblake at 21.11.06
5 Comments:
melancholy is a comfort in the gloom, my friend.
--- i like this new prose you have there. i'm inspired to compose a reply from "Mary".
Two melancholic souls pouring their hearts out into the dark, unable to hear one anothers' tideswept sweet nothings. The image is beautiful, I would love you to reply.
Hello osblake,
I just post a comment to confirm my entry to your web blog. What next?
Thanks for viewing my blog though.
Lau
Hi Lau
I've just emailed you details on The Poets Union link exchange (email address from your blog). Post me back if you don't receive for any reason
from angelman
I would like to take part in the poets union. Allan Moffatt at http://poemsbyanangel.blogspot.com.
Let me know how this is done.angelconch2@hotmail.com
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