Music Only Ghosts Can Hear

Poem

Such silent soldiers of alabaster, castling attack upon hickory and oak. Beset boards beached but paced across deserted lands and silver smoke. Sweet stab inside by spiraled spear, manifest sounds of blunder and moan. Dance to folklore’s dissonance, fianchetto by ear, sung eerily at solfeggio tone. Plundered, armoring faint and fashioned.

O Lord, of trumpets!

Quiety carved of iridescent pearl, calling pyrates home. Worshipped, a whacking god of sea. By horn three times ye blow. The oldest of whalebone, what remains of Ceto’s son. Eroded, of purest weight by ageless sand. O ghastly faces obsidian has to show. Apparitions laundered and toppling by the wages of tide alone. Shifting shape. As tinctures guzzled lay dread, dragging apodous specters to my bed. Infrasound armoring the blazoned feetless. Draped in sheets echoing belief again in Saga’s lore. Wanderers mind the morendo of bathymetry, supine across sea bed’s floor.

Music in lovely confusion. Accoustics call out in minor key to thee, which thoughts without this, run riot more. Pride’s last attempt to gambit leviathan in her bay, such beauty idol in briny tide, she which pins absolute again our bravest battleworn. She cradles we as pawns but a moment to her breast, then buries her treasure much closer, to a more dangerous side of shore. Upon plage, en passant, pursuit closer to open door. Be warned misterioso, my first mate to check to seek that which we cannot see and never know is true. Beware adjournment walking through daring loss of life’s rapport.

Upon ingress if you can dance to music only ghosts discern, Corsair, what does that make of you?