The Death Of A Queen

After years of gallant and distinguished service,
She awaited her fate.
Ever so gently she rocked,
Being caressed by the vast ocean's swells.

Her gray exterior,
Mottled with stains of rust,
Was no more than skeletal.
A fraction of her former self.

Inside all was quiet,
Except for the occasional creaking,
And the threatening ticking of telemetry.
The end was near.

 Off in the distance,
An ominous sign,
The fiery vapor trail,
Of a quickly approaching missile.

Still she sat, dead in the water,
Oblivious to the impending doom.
She was a target,
Able to do nothing but take the hit.

Suddenly, a violent explosion,
Shook every bulkhead,
And a cavernous thunder reverberated,
Throughout her empty spaces.

The once honored captain's chair,
Slowly slumped forward,
Along with the rest of the bridge structure,
As metal violently twisted.

More explosions came,
Ripping her skin to pieces.
Now nothing was left,
But the end.

Like a departing queen,
She regally and silently slipped,
Into the two thousand fathoms,
Of her final resting place.

Her tombstone, written on our hearts, reads:
USS Hull DD-945
July 3, 1958 - July 11, 1983
Rest In Peace, We Remember.

© 08/18/04 by David L. Henkel

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