one ghostly vessel

voices that echo from the deepest past
are what we use to bind our hearts to hope
not just the words that command us to cope
and sight of banners flapping from the mast
there are those souls who would just stand aghast
at sight of what is hanging from the rope
but we have not the time to wail or mope
since all our fortunes into war are cast
those are the choices that the raven gave
when first it croaked the prophecy of gain
and none that horrid word would now gainsay
so wait the coming of the broken slave
and count the endless shapings of your pain
until a brighter sail comes into day