Loss Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

These voyagers chance a risk, trip to a position, action rocks with wave motion; floating atop water done: not a planned notion threat.

Ten men, with wives and kids at play, check at their desks all their jewels, secure pen; following skids, inside a craft den: core in taken walks.

The ship is made of metal, it's not a rental, said it's invincible of the vessel, roam visitors' decks, see bright eyes, and inside mouths: dental.

The folks traveling find a tall hall, going into its low, dark quarter, slow moves by sailor's shadow, no fears in passengers; fun smiles: all is mellow.

A sailor suddenly changes things, alerts a bell to the guest, soon of danger with a yell, escapes coming harm; flees to side lifeboats to tell: not detail reason.

This cruise ship at the top is hit, stops by a bang, realizes broken it is a riding vessel, pop; hop plunges, sinking people in therein waters.

This invincible raft fills with water, in flood, surges of muck, no luck wet rugs, it's not a duck in this whirlpool; at battle ark lost: this ship.

The craft is wafted, eternal, stated the claim, not so that, ends lie a raft everlasting, a vessel by hand formed; constructed: a daft ship.