A Ship Run Aground in Stained Glass

When and if it ever sailed the blue seas,
Cannot be by any true measure known;
For now and forever enshrined in opaque elements
From whence light refracts when it is shown
Held together by once liquid lead now sealed
And framed, hung and living the life
Of someone's chosen decor,
Hung from a narrow chain and filtering
Sunlight with what has become.
The stained glass ship cruises motionless
Without sway beneath nor spray across it's bow
In the same spot each day until human hands
Or unexpected twists and turns of natural
(Or unnatural) events
Cause readjustment, realignment
And breakage instead of further refinement
And will never again need
It's barnacles scraped away.
Forever cast in the false
Appearance of motion.
No mud to catch it's keel or rudder
Nor nor'easter to fill and tear it's billowed
Power,
It sails nowhere in the window
Locked in artistic dry dock,
Like hands on a unmoving clock.
It's cabins, masts and crew
All in hock,
But destined to remain
As a refractor of light
With the real tumult of the sea
Far from sight.