Spotted, Wooden Bores

I spoke of darkness

At an outpost on the sea

And all I saw was through

A light; to think it was me-

That once had traversed the tide

The place waves and water abide

Aboard a ship to New York Shores

Clenched in spotted, wooden bores

That all felt real, but it all did then --

My mood swung below ocean floor

Until some hooded figure shone away

Blacklight creeping 'neath the door

Call me 'expert', call me 'guide'

It may be devils by my side

But angels speak in many a tongue

And those who hear me begin to run

Run to the boats that occupy the void

The empty nothingness beneath your feet

Unless my dark light has been devoid

You're trapped with danger beneath your seat