By T.L. Coston
Calm – eerily calm was the Neuse on that September
night
Barely a wave rippled the first, full moon’s light
Alone, I stood watching and waiting for
what? I didn’t know
Listening - anticipating on New Bern's shore
Minutes seemed like hours, and yet I tarried;
Anchored was I, waiting and waiting
Anchored was I, waiting and waiting
Till the nights dew wetted my feet and cold
began to bite
Finally, a whispered scent stilled my shivers, and bumps turned into fright
A distant flicker grew with each
wave slapping – slapping New Bern’s shore.
Closer it came, this flaming shadow, odorous of
burnt wood and flesh.
Silently, the pulsating orb approached, casting a
hellish hue
It was then, the
full moon revealed the ghost ship of yore
On deck, shadows of Palatine emigrants writhed in flames
Yet, neither ship nor soul was consumed
Nor a crackle of fire or piteous plea were heard as they sailed by
Wave upon wave slapping –
slapping New Bern’s shore.
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