Ghost Ship

Blood slicks the deck where my brothers once stood,
We sank their great fleet in a storm of hot lead.
Our hull is in splinters, her guns split and cold,
The captain went over with the last of the red.

Sails hang like dead men, ripped ragged and bare,
We drift with no rudder, no star to obey.
The wounded keep whispering names in the air,
I feel the ship turning to mist in the spray.

We’re becoming a ghost ship, adrift on the tide,
Victory’s won but the price is our souls.
No captain to steer her, no canvas to ride,
The sea waits to claim what she already holds.

I hear the last lads moaning low in the hold,
Their blood mixes salt with the planks at my feet.
We beat the odds heavy, that greater foe’s cold,
Yet every breath now tastes of endless defeat.

We’re turning to ghost ship, lost in the haze,
Victory’s won but the cost cuts us deep.
No captain to steer her, no wind in our sails,
The waves call our names while the living still sleep.

I grip the wheel steady though nothing responds,
The stars mock the ruin we fought to defend.
The crew slips away like the tide from the sand,
We conquered the battle and lost every friend.

We’re fading to ghost ship, swallowed by night,
Victory’s won yet we drift without end.
No captain to steer her, no canvas in sight,
The ocean has taken us, body and breath.

©2026 Hugh Mungus