The Snipes Lament (Original Poem Contribute) Poem by The Power_Palace.Poet_Union.Order Sir.

Now each of us from time to time, has gazed upon the sea,
And watched the warships pulling out, to keep our country free.
And most of us have read a book, or heard a lusty tale,
About the men who sail these ships, through lightning, wind, and hail.
But there's a place within each ship that legend fails to teach,
Within the shell, deep down in Hell, where reason cannot reach.
It's down below the waterline, it takes a living toll;
A hot, metal, living Hell, that sailors cali the 'Hole'.
It houses engines run by steam that make the shafts go round,
A place of fire, noise, and heat that beats your spirits down.
Where boilers like a hellish heart, and blood of angry steam,
Are molded gods without remorse, and nightmares in a dream.
Whose threat that from the fire's roar is like a living doubt,
That any minute would with scorn, escape and crush you out.
Where turbines scream like tortured souls, alone and lost in Hell,
As ordered from above somewhere, they answer every bell.
The men who keep the fires lit, and make the engines run,
Are strangers to the world of night, and rarely see the sun.
They have no time for man or God, no tolerance for fear;
Their aspect pays no living thing, the tribute of a tear.
For there's not much that men can do, that these men haven't done,
Beneath the decks, deep in the Hole, to make the engines run.
And every hour of every day, they keep the watch in Hell,
For if the fires ever fail, their Ship's a useless shell.
When ships converge to have a war, upon an angry sea,
The men below just grimly smile, at what their fate might be.
They're locked below like men foredoomed, they hear no battle cry,
It's well assumed that if they're hit, the men below will die.
For every day's a war down there, when gauges ali read red,
Tweive hundred pounds of angry steam can kill you mighty dead.
So if you ever write their sons, or try to tell their tale,
The very words should make you hear, a fired furnace wail.
And people as a general rule, don't hear of hardened souls,
So little is heard about the place, that sailors call the Hole.
But Ican sing about this place, and try to make you see,
The hardened life of men down there, 'cause one of them is me.
l've seen these sweat-soaked heroes fight, in superheated air,
To keep their ship alive and right, though no one knows they're there.
And thus they'll fight for ages on, till warships sail no more,
Amid the boiler's Hellish heat, and the turbine's mighty roar.
So when you see a ship pull out, to meet a warlike foe,
Remember briefly if you can, 'The men who sail below.'



Authorship by Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes
©️ Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes
®️ The Snipes Lament