Wasteland

Despite accounts of mist and haze, detours/ were made to turn inland towards the cove,/ the instruments read true, with heading east/ they cruised till they spotted the yellow coast/ And here the maps promised the cove with still/ under sand buried deep untouched till date/ was the great harbour of El Dorado/ Rumoured hidden within inside was gold,/ enough for all with will and grit to stand/ Posideon’s wrath, and so these men followed/ their maps to now arrive at their final mark/ Their sensors indicate the spot to strike/ with spades, and now being so close, they dig/ quick and they find, to their tired heart’s joy,/ their beliefs come true, their long awaited/ treasure precious at last within their grasp!/ They grab their prize and look towards their boats,/ and see raised above the water jagged/ rocks, hidden till now from view by high tide/ A gust of wind blows hard starboard, a slip/ of rope leaves the anchor knot clean undone,/ the ship sent hurtling quick into the crags/ The rocks sculpted sharp by the water’s flow/ break through the hull with ease, a thunder crash/ brings the sailors to their knees, in prayer/ to their Lord, having not yet realised that/ so far from home, in distant parts still damned,/ in foreign lands they’re ruled by foreign Gods