The Battle of the North Atlantic

In commemoration of the 100 year anniversary of the Titanic, here is an original poem which reflects upon the tragic events of April 15th 1912.

More than two thousand souls caught nestled in the crossfire of a battle,

One side the ocean, the other; the unsinkable vessel that thought of it chattel.

The shunned ocean, vengeful toward the beast that disregarded its foe,

The impenetrable Unsinkable, unthinkable that it’s beating heart it would owe.

“There is no danger that the Titanic will sink.” White Star Line Vice-President.

A pricked ear, an overlooked leer, a quiver from the bed it would soon lie resident.

Fourteenth of April, Nineteen Twelve, the first blow and the great beast floundered.

Fifteenth of April, Nineteen Twelve, overcome by cunning the Titanic had foundered.

Under the veil of night, the ocean planned its attack, one swoop from its sharp, jagged fist,

Then sat back and waited, its opponent fated, on its maiden voyage, to cease and desist.

With the first blow landed, Bruce Ismay demanded, the ship maintained full steam ahead,

As the sea beast propelled, its wounds only swelled, and its nemesis dutifully fed.

Like a terminal cancer creeping into the veins, water crept in to the vessel unnoticed,

And like a cancer it spread and broke out of its chains, and swept to those areas remotest.

On the Fifteenth of April, Nineteen Twelve, at twenty past two in the morning,

The battle was won, the swansong was sung, and the scale of destruction was dawning.

The blame was disputed, the tears were diluted and the night sky kept hold of the cries,

The beast’s fetter romantic, deep in the Atlantic, the ocean clung on to its prize.

On April Fifteen, over fifteen hundred souls in heaven will gather together,

One hundred years to the day, their lives took away, in a battle remembered forever.

Luke Gallacher


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