The Golden Ships

On waters still and never seen
By light of sun or moon or gleam
Of silver lanterns hung by harbor’s gate
They wait.

Golden ships with midnight sails
That never stir to Earthly gales
But with the chill from looming mountain heights
Take flight.

The bay is placid, circled round
By seven snow clad mountains found
On certain moonless nights in summer’s heat
To speak.

Their voices gentle breezes blow,
The cold of airless spaces know,
And horror felt in empty places there
They bear.

In answer drifting mists ascend
And ghostly ships like visions bend
Their courses, reaching for eternity,
To sea.

What say those unheard voices, cold?
Where bound those ships of pale gold?
What cargos held in darkness carry they
Away?