Ships Hull

Know true pain, like never before, the grey cloud is my shadow, My Boat is sinking; so desperately row, but the hull is punctured by Elven Lore, they natter near my ear, voices an echo: “Your ship, like broken skin and pore. Desert Island, like a movie – I know. This sea of seven faces, in war, with those who dare pass its blue door, will often dine with Poseidon, down below. As the water acquaints with Alveoli, for one second, a whole life passes by. Roar as  a lion would just makes bubbles brobble. Now true pain makes us all grovel. The balancing beam broken, fall after wobble, Just as is true pain in life, a broken hull, over cold water in which we must mull.