Pyrate Waters Call to us...
The Sea calls to us. Damned inland souls, of a modern era. Children listening to the tales of Hook, and Sparrow, and Silver, as the men of Teach’s day listened to tales of Avery, the men of Avery’s day, listened to tales of Morgan, and the men of Morgan’s day listened to the tales of Drake. For three hundred glorious years, ships put to sea under a great spread of sail, dreaming of a thousand uncharted lands, and the fame and fortune to be had there.
The last of their days, was the clipper ships, the first, the days of Columbus and Drake. All we have left, are the stories.
The Sea Calls to us... damned souls doomed to never fly the black. doomed to never put to sea.
And yet here, where we can breath in their legends, their legacies, when we don a plumed cap, and a scarlet coat, or a long black frock and a corset, when we celebrate their lives, and their freedom, can they see us? living in their shadows? pretending we walked with them, as pirates of yore?
Marooned on an inland sea, we wear the old cloths, and speak in the old tongues... when we drown our cursed modern lives with another name. a pirate, not an accountant. A Free Child of the Sea, not a slave to the modern age It is as close to being Pirates as we shall ever be, when we attend festivals dressed as captains, and gunners, when we entertain the wee ones, and ourselves, swilling rum amongst our brethren and sistren it is when we are truly alive... truly free, as they were.
Can they see us? Down with Davy Jones? I swear... Some nights when the camp is quiet, when our Captains lie at ease, and the ship’s cook, tends the fire, and the ‘guests’ are talking in the distance... I swear... I hear them laughing... Damned souls... Kidd hung up to rot as a warning, and there’s not a man jack among us who does not cry of his innocence. The Brethren of Nassau dead, so long ago... And there is not a one among us, who does not curse Woodes Rogers and his King. Not a one among us, to whom Blackbeard or Bellamy or Roberts were not heros... and The King and his royal navy cronies are the one we curse.
Are they laughing at this? Knowing that dead by the noose, or a cutlass or cannon, a pike or a pistol... They are the ones we call heros? the ones we worship, and not the powers that be, that laid them low?
I swear, there is a tavern in Hell, where all the old pirates, buccaneers and corsairs gather, where they roar, and laugh, and call out to us... to those who called them heros... who wish that story of Nassau, and The Brethren of the Coast, and all the other pirates ended differently...
They Call to us... And we answer. Hoist the Black Flag lads














