Walking The Plank

I don't need your cutlass to point the way to doom.

I edge along the slim oak diving board without regret.

No fear in me despite the queer jeers of the motley crew.

If only they knew what I might do.

I might double pike and twist into the blue abyss

and solicit applause from them (or marks our of ten).

I might leap so high and grab the mast,

climb into the crow's nest and stay there always,

for all the fools below would know.

Or find my own sweet oblivion, despite them.

Do not prompt me overboard, it was my plan to go

from this wretched crew, in rough seas or calm.

I can take the wind from their sails with one step

serenely into the great yawning beyond,

swallowed up by the mighty blue ocean

that was inside me anyway.