Phillip W Walter

Black Salt Sea

Near eleven on a still summer night
I gazed at the ink black tide.
A large bright moon, quite low in the sky
Found Ghosts that were trying to hide.

The water moved like pitch, just warm
Going fastest at the core
The Ghosts were running hard
Toward my home on the distant shore.

For this was the night the spirits came
Rising up from the black, black sea
To strike terror in the heart of one man
And tonight that man was me.