The Sirens Poem by Phil Charters

In the dark depths of night,
the sirens do wail.
The masts of men rise,
and toward them do sail.
On the winds of desire, their seed,
warmed by the fire;
that consumes their whole being,
and does darken their seeing.
Serpents reside, in their long golden tresses.
The men of the world,
entranced by their dresses;
forth they do come, in the passionate night,
never seeing the serpents,
nor feeling their strike.
The men have expired, by morning light;
the sirens do dance, in historic delight.
Their future secured,
by the weakness of man:
and the men of the world, forever damned.