Pitchers of dark ale

Pitcers of dark ale The new horizons have escaped the glass in parallax 'mid old dimensions' field, the captain sang stentorian and bass Rossini's Reqviem with his belly keeled. Upon the minds our primal goal evinced, a crazy Mistral whistled 'mid the ropes forlorn the waves with sea foam splashed to rinse and cleanse with salty taste our blurry scopes. We reigned alone upon the darkest blue a drunken steersman conding us to hell and when we spoke a tuna entered through our open mouths to cause aghast misspell. :D But coiled up round and dumb our hazy thought to distant seas egressed, with drinks to hale, a woozy balance ruled our deeds of naught, and demons laughed with pitchers to regale. The sailboat cradled happy 'pon the waves, seesawing mindless bird, deleted griefs, with tunas jumping round we danced the raves, all-night our techno moves avoided reefs. We danced with maids that laughed and called our names, their curvy foggy shapes we longed to trace, but dark the flowing ale was causing games, inviting sirens' laugh was death's embrace. © G. V., 08-17-2013 All rights reserved (Iambic Pentameter)