He was the captain of a sailing ship
A proud, a pompous, pirate of the seas
Fearless as fire he ventured on
For a life of his own, one worth to seize
Weathered he well the rough waters,
And alone he navigated the storms
Never one person he seemed to himself
But an image of many mutable forms
A title worth its weight in gold:
The czar, the captain of his soul
To govern his ways and none besides,
But hence the captain, soon, of Sheol
For freedom, cheated
And feigned courage
A captain courageous, but in his own eyes
Which are black as the spot upon his hand
Though grasp he scope and through it spies
Never again will he see the land
A red sash rests askance
Upon a red and sweaty brow
To himself he tells each day and night:
“Fealty to none; to no one will I bow.”
Of all the knees that should, and will,
His stand upright, the helm to hold
He is the captain of a sinking ship
From the lips of none will his tale be told.
