Prose
 
 
 
 
 

 
 

 

 

Ghost Surfers
by Owen

In Cocoa Beach,
When the summer moon's
Just a slice in the charcoal sky
And the stars are dark
Without sign of spark
And dreams and the tide are high

A crew of wraith-like surfers ride
The crests of the inkblack waves
And their ghastly white
Casts an eerie light
On the sea that conceals their graves

Not a sound they make
As the combers break
Not a shout, nor a whoop of joy
For the night conceals
What a spectre feels
Who's the ghost of a once-young boy

They were surfing freaks
From the local school
Who'd go out when their friends
would flee
And they died one June
When a wild typhoon
Blew their boards and themselves
to sea

And local lore
Says they haunt this shore
In their search for the perfect wave
For the ride that will reach
To the sandy beach
And permit them to leave their grave

Many nights they've tried
Since that year they died
But their hopes have grown dim
and cold
For they're caught in a spell
Between Heaven and Hell
And they'll surf
till the world grows old