The speeding vessel, nudged by the stealth

Of an iceberg giant, looming out of the shadows

Of dangerous night, and the vulnerable flank

Splintered, where the Atlantic Ocean

Poured its drowning fire through

The punctured lung, the bridge

At first lightly jolted, the course unchanged,

It seemed, yet strangely enigmatic,

Light-hearted revellers on the dance-floor

Celebrating in opulent style,

Afterwards the flood of abrupt terror

Through their shrinking world

Driving them on in savage flight

To cram deficient exits,

The orchestra taking up the stark theme

Of God's proximity, this myopic

Vainglory of fools with power and influence

Making its final maiden voyage,

Disregarded in extravagant haste,

The ship's captain holding in his conscience,

The lack of rescue-boats on deck,

And the coming dread for those he carried,

Helpless before the onslaught of the storm,

No altered denouement in this drama,

Nor sudden hope to escape the throes of death,

The unsinkable ship vanishing

Over the foaming edge of inevitability,

With the few surviving the dark, oil-soaked horror,

To prolong their living

As those reborn for guilt and gratitude.

Bill Drayton, Christchurch