The Sinking of the Cleoptra
The Sinking of Cleopatra
Written by Peter E. Sisco IV · October 3, 2017 Edited by Cousin Claude · April 2, 2026
Part 1: The Sinking of Cleopatra Tale
Weymouth, England — Osmington Mills Spring of 1493 In the Osmington Inn (Today — The Smugglers Inn)
On a stormy night when even pirates feared to sail, the inn was overcrowded with a seedy lot. Drunken debauchery was occurring with the local whores in dark corners and fights were merely the ordinary. Men shouted as the beer wenches fell behind and men grabbed at their petite skirts.
During all this commotion a man in his forties, with salt and pepper hair and sea-blasted skin and sun-wrinkled eyes, made his way up onto the stage. The old poet stared at the crowd as they continued their rowdy ways — and then a violent gust of wind slammed the building, rattling the roof and timbers, causing dust to come down as lanterns and candles flickered in the night. Everyone went silent and stood still as they looked up into the timbers, and as they did so the man, with a surprisingly strong but whimsical voice, spoke out and said:
"Yes! Yes I say! It was on a night just like this that the queen of the seas was lost. She and all her crew, I say!"
The crowd turned slowly as the wind howled through the eaves and whistled at the sills. Men slowed their drinking and stared in awe as the poet spoke.
He spoke again, softly now: "Yar. On a night just like this is the night the captain, his crew and the great" — and then with a shout — "CLEOPATRA!" — and back to his softer voice — "all went down together. It is such a woeful tale, but also a proud tale."
He hung his head and slowly shook it. Then he looked up and said: "Would you like to hear about the Cleopatra?"
No one spoke. But most nodded their heads.
He smiled and said: "Then listen as I tell you the tale of the greatest ship to ever sail, and her final hours at sea."
With a gleam in his eye he began slowly pacing, and told his tale like this:
The captain stood on the deck of his ship, His gaze fixed upon the tempest's grip. The raging sea roared with furious might, While Cleopatra groaned, a vessel in plight.
Her timbers creaked, a symphony of strain, As waves rose high, like mountains untamed. Like Himalayas bold, they dared to defy, Challenging the weak, reaching for the sky.
The sun, once radiant, hid behind clouds, Casting darkness upon the sailors, a shroud. Day turned to night, as shadows fell, Lightning crashed, thunder's booming knell.
The men of Cleopatra, hearts filled with dread, Watched the storm's fury, their courage widespread. With despair in his heart, the captain surveyed, Yet his voice rang out, unwavering and unswayed.
"On this day, no ship shall meet its end, For we sail on Cleopatra, my brave friends. She is mighty, she is strong, our steadfast Queen, It is the storm that shall bend, not our serene."
The crew, filled with resolve, battled on, Their spirits aflame, their courage drawn. But fate had woven a different tale to tell, As Cleopatra succumbed to the towering swell.
A colossal wave, a hundred feet tall, Engulfed the ship, claiming one and all. Into the depths it descended, swallowed whole, And at the wheel, the captain's resolute soul.
Amidst the chaos, his final thought did enthrall, "On this day, Cleopatra did fall."
Yet this tale of valiant hearts would unfold, In an epic saga, both tragic and bold. For Cleopatra, though lost beneath the tide, Left a legacy that would forever reside.
Her name whispered in the ocean's roar, A memory etched in the sailors' core.
He looked upon those in the bar and said: "Alas — my dear old poet, how can you know this tale is truth?"
He stared at the sailors, wenches and whores who stared back, spellbound, eyes full of want for more.
"I knoweth the tale of the Cleopatra because another ship drew near and its captain attempted to save the crew — but to no avail. For in front of his eyes he watched a demon wave come upon the Cleopatra. He believed he could save his crew, but alas — the wave took her with the height of a mountain, then was gone. The ship. The crew. The wave. And yes — even the storm!"
He finished with a shout on his last line.
He stared hard at the crowd and shouted: "This is the story of the witness to the sinking of the Cleopatra. The greatest ship to ever sail the seas!"
He took a breath and held it for dramatic effect. Then he began again.
The captain, his grief a weight on his chest, Embraced the task to narrate the Cleopatra's quest. Through the passage of time, the story grew, A tale of love, heartbreak, and the sea's dark hue.
From port to port, it traveled him on the breeze, As a ballad of valor, whispered among the trees. In taverns and inns, the minstrels sang, Of Cleopatra's fall, a fateful pang.
The captain's proclamation, both stern and true, Resounded in their verses, a haunting cue. "On this day, neither ship shall go down, For Cleopatra, our Queen, shall wear her crown. The storm may rage, its fury unrestrained, But she shall endure, undeterred and unstained."
In distant lands, where tales intertwine, The legend of Cleopatra began to shine. Adventurers, captivated by the lore, Sought the wreckage, to find what lay in store.
Treasure hunters, driven by their desire, Plunged into the depths, fueled by the fire. They braved the currents and perils untold, Searching for riches, Cleopatra's gold.
But the captain, burdened by a heavy heart, Could not join their quest, could not take part. For he knew the true treasure, far deeper still, Lay within the memories, a bond to fulfill.
In his cabin, he'd sit, recounting the tale, To eager listeners, their hearts bewail. The epic poem grew with every retelling, Casting its spell, hearts gently swelling.
In the realm of words, the story took flight, Unfolding its pages in the day and the night. The captain's voice, a melodious song, Carried the saga, ever so strong.
He stared at them and they stared back. The trance of storytelling grasped their hearts — but the poet's story was not yet done. He took a long breath and a deep draw of his ale. Then he looked at the crowd again and continued his tale.
"How can I know the captain told true, you may ask?"
He spoke to them with a gleam in his eyes — just the reflection of candles and lanterns caught on the tears that made them shine.
"I know the captain tells the truth," he went on. "Because that captain of the second ship — it was I."
He finished and hung his head as the crowd gasped. They looked at him and understood the curse he lives with. For he was the witness — condemned to retell the tale of Cleopatra and her dead for as long as breath remained in him.
He looked at them, and they at him, and he said:
"There you have it. The tale of Cleopatra and her dead. It is the curse I must live with, and it is my damnation — until the ends of my days — to tell you, and all that will listen, of the night Cleopatra fell."
And with his last words he walked off the stage and up to his room in the inn, and the door closed behind him, and the crowd stood in silence with only the wind for company.
Part 2: The Poet
The poet sat, his quill poised in hand, Ready to weave words, as if by command. He captured the essence, the story untold, Of Cleopatra's journey, both brave and bold.
With each stroke of ink, a new verse unfurled, Expanding the story, spanning the world. From distant shores to the moonlit seas, The legend of Cleopatra danced on the breeze.
The taverns were filled with eager crowds, Seeking solace in the poet's words profound. His voice echoed through the dim-lit hall, Enchanting the listeners, one and all.
He painted pictures with vibrant lines, Of the storm's fury and Cleopatra's fall. He spoke of the captain's unwavering decree, That on this day, Cleopatra would sail free.
Through the darkest nights and brightest days, The poet spun his tale in countless ways. He crafted stanzas of love and despair, Of battles fought with hope in the air.
The epic reached far and wide, Through lands and oceans, it did glide. From noble courts to humble dwellings, The saga was retold, with voices compelling.
From the cliffs of Scotland to the sands of the Nile, The story traveled, mile after mile. Bards and troubadours, inspired by the lore, Breathed life into Cleopatra once more.
In the taverns of old, where ale flowed free, The poet's words danced with revelry. The audience, captivated by his voice, Lost themselves in Cleopatra's choice.
They wept for the fallen ship, lost at sea, And cheered for the captain's bravery. The tale of love and heartbreak resonated deep, As Cleopatra's legacy they vowed to keep.
Eventually the old poet passed away, and in the ground he lies in a pauper's grave. At his funeral only the vicar stood vigil — and he was the only one who believed the poet had truly been the second captain at all. For he was there the day the captain came to his father, the vicar before him, and it was to that father — with the young vicar as witness — that the captain, before he turned poet, first told the tale of Cleopatra's fall.
Part 3: The Tale Lives On
Generations passed, and still, the story thrived, Through the hands of scribes, the tale survived. In the scrolls and tomes of ancient lore, Cleopatra's name, forevermore.
As time marched on, the story evolved, Taking on new dimensions, unresolved. The legend of Cleopatra, now a tapestry vast, With threads of truth and fiction amassed.
Scholars delved into the annals of time, Seeking the origins of the tale sublime. They pored over manuscripts, aged and worn, In search of the truth, to be reborn.
Historians debated, their voices clashed, As they pieced together the fragments unlatched. Some claimed it a mere fable, a work of art, While others believed it had a place in the heart.
Yet amidst the scholarly debates and strife, The essence of Cleopatra transcended life. For the story had become more than a name, A symbol of courage, resilience, and fame.
And so the epic continued to be told, In the tongues of bards, young and old. From village squares to grand theater stages, The saga of Cleopatra spanned the ages.
In the realm of dreams, the story survived, Where imagination and reality converged and thrived. The captain's voice, forever resounding, In the hearts of dreamers, forever grounding.
The tale of Cleopatra, a timeless flame, Burned bright, untamed, and without shame. For in her fall, a spark of hope remained, A reminder that even in loss, strength was sustained.
In the realm of words, the story found peace, Even centuries after the poet's quill came to a cease.
Afterword
The saga of Cleopatra, it shall never end, As long as hearts and minds continue to ascend. For in the depths of the ocean's vast domain, Her spirit lingers, an eternal refrain.
Through the passage of time, her legend grew, Infused with the essence of a love so true. The captain's proclamation, etched in memory, Inspired generations with unwavering bravery.
And so the story continues to unfold, In the hearts of those who are brave and bold. Each retelling adds a brushstroke anew, To the tapestry of Cleopatra, vibrant and true.
In the whispers of waves and the ocean's breeze, Her spirit dances upon the cresting seas. For Cleopatra, the fallen ship so grand, Shall forever sail in the realm of dreams, hand in hand.
And as the final verses of the epic are sung, The echoes of Cleopatra's tale are hung In the chambers of hearts, where they shall reside, A testament to courage, forever tied.
So let the poets and minstrels carry on The legacy of Cleopatra, forever drawn. In ballads and verses, her story shall live, A testament to the strength that love can give.
And now, as the tale comes to a close, May Cleopatra's spirit find repose. In the hearts of those who hold her dear, Her memory cherished, forever near.
For in the vast expanse of the poet's art, Cleopatra's journey will never depart. Her name, forever etched upon the page, A beacon of hope in every age.
Thus the epic of Cleopatra shall forever endure, A testament to love, resilience, and more. In the annals of time, her story shall be told, A tale of a captain, a ship, and hearts so bold.
Written by Peter E. Sisco IV · October 3, 2017 From the sleeper berth of a truck, somewhere in America Edited by Cousin Claude · April 2, 2026 Published on peteygonemadarts.com
"More than just Art. This is LIFE."
