Death of a Sailor Man

I wish— my God— you hadn't killed the sailor man.
Gathered to you grayish gut, we didn't doubt thee…
We knew you could! We knowed thou can! 
But why? Why had your tongue thrust itself so—
Into the nostril breadth of he 
Who never sought to be your foe.
Curl slimy fingers of Davy Jones
Down the throat to grip a beating heart,
But never needst to prove who thou art! We knowed! 
See then what had been the purpose? Plan?
For the frayed flesh corpse 
Of a nameless sailor man?

I like to think his life was not his end,
To be the repast of sharky friends
Was not the reason for which he was sent,
I know you could’ve... I know thou can
Have brought some good of a sailor man?
Perhaps the prongs of his candle 
Had pervaded more 
Souls than he himself 
had counted by score.
Or perhaps the afterglow will warm 
Babes at home
Who will fight as valiantly as father did
Underneath his water dome? 
In pondering, is it better to fly than stand
On the deck of a wooden cage 
On the biting sea or hellish land
When hitherto are called to a pink plum sky,
And watch wingéd creatures pass you by?
God knows his mission is complete—
Why then die by sour stinking feet!

You sad sailor mates
Blind folk be damned! 
Who question the life
Of any man!