Never in history had fate been so confronted
by the comfortable who now confronted,
from the height of their comfort, the dark
and freezing sea. The passengers contemplating
going down is impossible to convey in poetry.
Spread out, life-boats, on rescue bent, dimmed,
one by one, their lanterns, to not be seen,
that reasonable fanatics, warmly dressed,
freezing and drowning from the sinking,
would not, in their despair, overwhelm
women and children held up narrowly.
Soon, through the dark, rescue came,
drawn by morse-code’s help help help help help.
Oh calm night of frigid air,
now felt by Titanic’s anguished crew.
Hot and arrogant, they would not stop
when a sister ship in icy waters similar
signaled: we have stopped, will you?
The builder of the ship wasn’t captain
nor on the ship taking messages. The builder,
helplessly on board, said, “two hours
and we go down”—everyone ignored that, too.
One hysterical survivor cried, “Some were saved!
Some were saved! All I can say is some were saved!”
Nothing will ever be different.
What do you think will happen to you
beneath the dim (and undimmed) stars?