The benediction was a joke: we grinned
As priests waved incense, and the roaring crowd
Sent our white ship sliding under the wind
Down into the grey harbour, groaning loud.

A cackling rage of gulls flew round the stern,
As each man stooped, encumbered with his chore;
The stench of brine and tar like sulphur’s burn
Coated the figurehead of painted whore.

The landline dwindled, died beneath the sea,
Horizon’s rim surrounded all our world;
Black water pitched us sickening, to flee
Before the singing winds from sirens hurled.

In passion’s grip we reeled through Satan’s gates
As if a malediction well rehearsed
Or if a trap set by the drunken fates
Made each day fall the same, our voyage cursed.
Try answering the question, Iano.
Most people just haven’t got this at all.
Think “extended metaphor”!
Sorry, Lemons, just repeating my comments on your “poem” doesn’t work, I’m afraid. You’re just showing your ignorance of what poetry is.