Beneath the Black Atlantic

Her body lays at rest in the abyss,

An endless darkness, through eternities.

Four days she spent exploring April’s mists,

Two hours she spent drowning in her seas.

A breathless night enticed her on at speed;

The greatest moving object of the earth,

But here among the greatest of the sea’s,

Her fate is sealed by shards of arctic birth.

When diamonds of the north caressed her coat

And opened up her buttons to the world,

She strained to keep her iron soul afloat,

Before her armour rapidly unfurled.

The icy water slipped its way inside

And pulled her bladed bow towards the black;

She rose until the oceans she defied;

So riled Poseidon broke the Titans back.

And rapidly the darkness overcame,

No longer could she fight the cruel torrent.

The final snuff of her combustion flame

Engulfed her in a blackness, abhorrent.

Into the black Atlantic she dissolved,

And slowly slipped below the glassy waves;

To take with her four years of dreams, annulled;

To drag with her two thousand souls, enslaved.

And far above, below an ancient night,

The cries of freezing masses start to fade

And with the final breath of those in plight,

The silence, as before, was thus replayed.

She disappeared to plains beyond the stars,

Her form was ripped to pieces in the depths.

Incurable the deepness of her scars;

Immeasurable the plummet to her death.

So now, her body rests beneath the sea,

As slowly she erases from the page.

Soon history will hold her memory

And legend will endure her through the age.

But do not curse the ship that sailed from dreams,

The ship they falsified unsinkable,

One hundred years decayed the lies at seams

And showed mans ignorance at her downfall.

And as the broken giant turns to dust,

A decomposing shrine to tragedy,

Her legacy reminds man past his lust,

To ne'er again defy the mighty sea.

Copyright © 2012 by Simon Austin

In Commemoration of the Centenary of the Sinking of the RMS Titanic, April 14th 1912

On April 14th 1912, The RMS Titanic, the largest, grandest, most luxurious and deemed safest ship in the world, on her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York, struck an iceberg at 11.40pm and sank 2 hours and 40 minutes later, taking 1,514 people with her to the bottom of the North Atlantic (by utter coincidence, this poem, including its title, has 1,514 characters).  The disaster was met with worldwide shock and outrage at the huge loss of life, and led to many public enquiries and ultimately, a complete overhaul of the then outdated safety regulations governing ships at sea.

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the disaster, and many commemorations and memorial services will take place to once again remember those that were lost, and also renew interest in the legends and stories from that fateful night one hundred years ago. 

I've always had a personal fascination with the Titanic, the stories, the nobility and the final hours on that April night, and wrote this poem of the sinking of the great ship, and the consequences that echo on through the ages as my own personal dedication to the commemorations of the tragedy.