The Flying Dutchman

By: Gus Victoria

Bloodstained deck ever slick,

With vengeance and regret thick,

No man walks steady,

No spirit unweighted,

The Captain in his cabin hides,

From the wraiths and shades that cry,

Hold full of treasure,

Soul empty by every measure.

The crew waits,

Married to the sea,
She is their mistress.

For those on shore

She dances at the edge of recollection,

Her mast in the wind strong, sails full,

Cutting through the endless expanse,

Now shattered on the reef she waits,

A ghost carrying ghosts,

To rise once more,

To sail anew.

There is no refuge,
There is no safe harbor,
On moonless nights she rises,
Across an ink-black sea she sails,
A desperate search for salvation
Not in forgiveness found,
A bleak harvest raised
In blood to drown for a night,
The angry calls of the dead,
That raise a chill fright,
Striking the stoutest heart with dread, 
The calls that the Captain knows well,
Harbingers of his eternal Hell.

Going on Account - A Pirate's Life For Me

By: Gus Victoria

He worked long hours

In the master’s house

That for long stood on the hill

Overlooking a kingdom of sorts,

Envy of many,

For the position he carried.

He buttled long and hard

And more than one maid

Did he fraternize;

A little virtue,

A little vice,

Ghosts friendly and nice,

Still he grew restless,

The sea called,

In her deep melody

She called;

A siren’s song.

He answered and left.

That spooky house

On that hill he left,

Not far was the journey,

That found him on the shore

Of the waters

That bore that Wicked Wench,

Her captain wailed as the devil’s own minion,

To go on account;

To join or regret.

The greens of the livery he traded,

For colorful rags

And the pirate’s life.

To pillage and plunder

The lands spotted atop the crow’s nest,

A black flag now announced

The coming of a pirate;

Once servant of an estate,

Now master of the sea.