Come Young Pirates, Part X I I I - Our Flag's Crossed Swords Flew Black And Red Poem by Captain Cur

On rich seas we hungrily fed
Our flag's crossed swords flew black and red
Revamping these endless blue plains
Skimming the surface fracturing waves.

Grappling hooks steady pulled her near
Beads of sweat perspiring fear;
Flags were hoisted, twin swords aflame,
Bodies positioned, weapons displayed,
A Galleon of floating locust and lice
Poised on the yardarms like parasites,
Broad swords bright and richly arrayed
Thirsty for blood, hungry for fame.

Our Captain's crossed swords held high in his hands
Bursting in fire the maelstrom began;
Sounding a wild boar's charging breath
Our tusks gouging, gorging on death,
Bright knives were flying from each palm
Like lightening from a wizard's wand,
Splintery clubs spiked fat with nails
A minuet of wood and steel,
Choreographed swords effecting parts
Sculpting murals of gruesome art,
Guns exploding with gems of lead
Adorning flesh glittering red,
Deafening heartbeats, loud their drums
Accustomed to the warring blood,
Muscle trimmed hounds sniffing out death
Sleekly toned with sinewy flesh
Black and white striped, lined and edged clean
Painting faces in savagery.

In battle each receive their due
To those deserving, those untrue
So this simple courtesy paid
No hospitality could claim
Like feasting on a reverenced guest
Without pity, without redress,
Reverting to dust inside the womb
Muttering prayers to who knows whom.

In monasteries of scarred souls
Words of contrition unfold
Planted in the flowery ground
Where all their works follow them down.
Under closed lids Mistress Death came
In her black cloak thumping her cane
To be judged in the Kingly Court
The last bastion, the final port.