By Leah Moten

Object No. 89 'Titanic' Launch Ticket
Ulster Folk & Transport Museum

This rectangle,

So small and worn,

With scars across it

Like the scars in my life.

Old and wrinkled,

Like my Hands,

Holding onto the memory

Of that fatal night.


So small, yet so important,

My ticket to a new life,

My portal to another world,

A better world,

A world where everybody has food,

A world where people wear smiles.


But this ticket is doomed,

This huge, white ship is cursed.

‘Dont get on’ i try to warn myself.

The ship has cause too much fear and death,

Too many screaming memories,

These memories will never be washed away.


Unsinkable, they said.

i get ont the Titanic with no idea,

No clue,

Of what might happen

And of what would happen.

The death and sadness,

The terror and drowning,

Ther memories that won’t sink,

About the ship that did.


A jolt through the ship.

The sound of warning bells,

Water starts flooding in,

Dark, murky water,

Dragging us down beneath th surface,

Pulling us into the under-water prison.


Then i see the lifeboats,

Big and White,

Like a much smaller version of the ship.

They stand out in the chaos

There to save me.

I get in, suddenly safe.


Behind me, I watch.

I feel sadness in the air,

As the Titanic slowly goes down,

Dragged under the water.

With terror filled screams,

With pleading cries,

It takes everyone down with it.

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