The Ships Coming

Far off across the oceans,

Reaching exotic shores,

Are vessels loaded aboard,

With spices, teas, and ores.

They sail off over the edge,

Across worlds away,

Passing sultans and khans,

And the tributes they must pay.

Yet there are terrors still,

Waiting in the sea’s depth,

Mutiny, monsters, and marauders,

To plunder the treasures kept.

The seabed is a record,

Of shipwrecks failing to dock,

Submerging all the wealth,

That would come from the stock.

By the Atlantic coast,

A noble waits for word,

Of his hopes and dreams,

For months left unheard.

The creditors line up,

Waiting by the manor door,

And all he can do to quell them,

Is stare out by the shore.

Life is all a game of luck,

As fair as cards and die,

With no greater meaning,

No matter how hard we cry.

And just as his heart sank,

He saw a shimmer up ahead,

A single bountiful ship,

Answering prayers pled.

Ten ships set sail,

But only one needs to come,

To make the loss worth the cost,

Though those lost pay the sum.