The engines roared and thrust in spite,
a seeming infinite moonless night.
They spotted her and brought her forth
upon the ship that cast due north.
In her room, grazed metal walls
her claws erect, heard from the halls,
thrashed before the evening pyre-
with evil, she did not conspire,
let loose her name, and dug a grave,
set course, aghast, on cunning wave.
It struck her ship, then breached her door,
that she would not be trapped once moor.
She crawled along the burning heap,
the metal raft was far too steep.
She slid down fast among the gale,
and held on swift to an empty rail
that teetered against the menaced dark,
in the vacant light, gleamed fin of shark,
flashed to and then, a wicked game.
A moment wrapped, her mind to tame,
so bid her jump from wild ember,
a moment she will oft remember.
“Will i let go?”, the thunder roared
the sailors long jumped overboard.
The fear of death, in each direction
her eyes blazed grim the bold reflection,
as stamps of lightening flashed the danger
each frame captured, all the stranger.
The flames that danced, the fin that laughed,
the sailors fleeing in mechanical craft.
Still hung and swayed, her arms went weak,
her fashion now, a vicious bleak.
Three months to the day, it seems
in slumbers adrift to prophetic dreams,
seeking the source, her research strayed
this is not for what she was getting paid.
For counseled drams, on dress and shoe,
yet left a note in clevered clue
upon marbled mantle to Mr. Zho,
who begged another place to go.
For when he heard they thought him spy,
he baid his wife and child goodbye.
She granted how to avoid such doom,
directions away from his hellbent tomb.
Oh! Grinned he did, he got away,
for he put her map on press display.
“Traitor!” they howled, with wrenched-up faces,
abandoning all the metered graces.
“to hang! to hang!” the (p)resident’s quail!
She recalled it all, as she clutched the rail,
then one last time, called through the veil
to master fear that she would fail,
and roast as dinner for the serrated whale.
She sang “Hallelujah! I’m still alive!
Kill if you must, I’ll still survive!
For no one here will strike the blow
that hammers my love to the fires below!
I raise my voice, you won’t ruin me!
I’m as valiant as I’ll ever be!
I can grasp or release, but im still free!
This wind will judge and carry me
to slaughter or safety, I do not cry
or wonder in pity, “Oh why, oh why?”
The contracts’ clause, we all must die.
Alas! I won’t sit idly by
to let the worse siege my soul
unlike them, it’s my ultimate goal
to keep my spirit bright and whole!
For that is what will lead me on
for the millions when my body’s gone.
Bring the worst, I’ve no regret!
Praise be life! I’m not dead yet!”
The bitter tempest took her bite
but the Fire Spirits took great delight.
With heated blade, a slice gave way
like spicy pumpkin on a chilly day,
her hands let go, the pie that caught her,
her side was braised but blanched no hotter.
She held on tight, a blast was hurled,
shook all the lands across the world.
She landed abruptly, a frog on a lily.
Oh, Lady of Luck! Miss Chantilly Gilley!
The pride of Wessick, of rumors and flags!
What money she found, unsinged in their bags.
Her pockets were full, her manners, bright
and Mr. Zho fell so ill that night.
She landed fair, upon arrival.
The news, all hailed, such brave survival!
Laid down her gold, a castle’s worth
to the finest view to behold on earth.
The search for prescience – to stand apart
for faith in life is no coward’s art.
As some days drivel, and whittle away,
some remain poised for rewind and play.
Let it be said, in your own darkest dive
“Hallelujah! Praise be! I’m still alive!”
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