Adrift beached on an empty wasteland
The catamaran soon broke up
Scattering sections of her splendour wide
She was quite dead and was being consumed
By the exiles and the creatures of the coast
Yet there was no account of the crew
I looked out into the sea of silver dreams
Which remained at peace within its dry sleep
I sensed only a vacancy of the recent past
A small section of the bow was propped
Against a remnant of another war
Blue white and red paint peeling fast
It was damp cold to the touch
Although the air was morning warm
I then sensed the stench of death
As the prisoners from hell
Were getting nearer