Analysis of Titanic-a gracious lady.

Titanic-a gracious lady.
Titanic-there she lies amid the dark and the gloom,
all around her, eerie silence, in a deep watery tomb.
They said she could not fail-fashioned by 'hand of man',
but the ocean's elements claimed her and the downward journey began,
as into the abyss she travelled swiftly on that fateful day,
it could have been avoided, in hindsight, many may say.
Mighty must have been the thud as the long journey ended
and to the very bowels of the sea she ultimately descended,
and so, with the last groaning breath of twisted metal,
before the stillness and quiet, the sediments did settle.
Ne'er to grow old and jaded, as we, left here to wither,
the seas bade this princess, in her youth,’ come ye hither' ,
this sweet flower, seed of unrealistic human quest
for perfection, on the ocean floor now doth rest,
cut down before she blossomed, thus unable to fulfill
the promise, set store, but for her time stands still,
the sunshine, briefly tasted, e'en though it was short,
for on that day, long long ago, after leaving home port,
she was already doomed, life was slowly ebbing away,
soon she would be sleeping in a dark world where day
never does dare venture-just dull continuous night;
subsequent generations have been intrigued by the plight
of the passengers, the master and crew at their station,
as they realised the hopelessness of the whole sorry situation,
many tales of heroism and cowardice, both fiction and fact
have emerged and, from time to time, players will re-enact
on celluloid, the fascination of tragic events that transpired
and the demise of this lady, once by the whole world admired,
now discovered is her last resting place and, frozen in time,
the remote camera and floodlight reveal grace and beauty, sublime,
the majestic ballroom, where revelers once 'made merry',
danced to the orchestra, ate lavish meals, drank finest sherry,
is today like a sunken cathedral-so vast is this space,
an enchanted cavern with a now profound ghostly face,
the delicate chandeliers still hang there, but algae encrusted,
to the eternal safeguard of the deep they have been entrusted
the ornate stairways where from one place to another hurried,
her charges, fortunes to make and reputations not to be sullied,
and business engagements which were important at one time to keep,
the craftsman’s splendor is still there, though they now do sleep,
she effortlessly eclipsed others before-no expense was reserved,
newly appointed with delicious grandeur, the legend well deserved
and deep inside her, where faceless men once endlessly toiled,
shovelling fuel into her furnaces, more water to be boiled,
the enormous vessels' appetite they strove valiantly to sate,
unaware of events transpiring that would soon seal her fate,
the steam piston engines, with gargantuan stroke and bore,
now reclining giants, their strength, alas, needed no more,
the huge propellers that moved her assured, the waves over,
too lie motionless, like huge submerged (three)four leafed clover,
the gunwhales,the bridge where the captain, proud, stood tall,
have lain long, far below-covered in this ancient maritime pall,
she retains an aura, though the murky depths do enshroud her,
like a sleeping beauty she patiently awaits, with not a stir,
her prince to arrive and with a kiss this maiden to awake,
but this will never happen and respect must we for the sake
of those poor souls who perished with her, and forever lie
on the sea-bed so cold and so deep as a mountain is high.
Jennifer Kersey.