Sailing North Poem by Phillip Ellis

In memoriam John William Fisher,1903-1941

Against the dark sky, and the darker ocean,
that fade towards blackness, and a starless night,
we ships are sailing north again. The water
is colder than life, and salt, and the engines
have yet to protest against the strain: they steam
in the cool air, like panting beasts. And they strain
like greyhounds, coursers seeking release-thus
the vessels are sailing north again, to war.

This is no moral war, no human effort
of one side that says it is good, the other
evil, and vice versa. This is no strange
correspondence with the heavens, no secret
manifest, apocalypse of mysteries;
this is the daily war, of living beings
faced with entropy-not knowing how to live,
the vessels are sailing north again, to war.

For me, this is a human fight, to exist
and scatter verses in my wake, and to fight
all of the gods, enemies that don't exist.
And I know that, in time, my ship shall soon sink
with all hands, perishing, maybe forgotten
by the few that signalled me. It was not vain,
though. It was not in vain: I am pleased to know
the vessels are sailing north again, to war.

Even as I age, newer and younger ships
are joining our flotillas, and I am glad
in ways, and I am saddened, in others, that
the vessels are sailing north again, to war.