Member Poem

The waves still hum of ships long drowned,
Their voices lost, yet never found.
Beneath the foam, the dead still wail,
Their whispers woven through the gale.

Each crest, a tombstone, cold and tall,
Each tide, a hand that drags and calls.
The salt erodes, the bones decay,
Yet memories will never stray.

The anchors sleep where phantoms tread,
A seabed filled with nameless dead.
The masts are ribs, the decks—dissected,
A graveyard never once neglected.

The ocean sings, but none reply,
A choir built from those denied.
Their echoes crash on cliffs so steep,
A chorus only ghosts can keep.

Beneath the waves, the past still lingers,
Clutching sand with restless fingers.
The ship bells toll, though none remain,
A requiem cast in ceaseless rain.

The coral clings to rusted beams,
Consuming all that once had gleamed.
Yet still, the shipwrecks hum their lore,
A dirge that time cannot ignore.

The sea forgets no sailor’s name,
Their stories carved in liquid graves.
The tide erodes, but will not sever,
For water whispers… never, never.

So listen close, hear sorrow’s call,
For graves at sea will never fall.
The ocean keeps what land discards,
A tomb where death still beats and scars.