The ocean sways in beats of three,
A meter rhythmic and a bit off key.
The boat rocks up and down,
The sailors guarantee safe journey,
But I know the ocean is a fickle beauty.
Many times I have crawled,
Along the sands of unknown lands.
My fingers splintered, rubbed raw-
Many boats reduced to rubble and strands.
She plays favors for her children lurking
Deep underneath they plot and snicker,
Goddess' veiled demons sprawled on rocky terrain,
Singing of reprieve, but death delivers quicker.
In the murky quiet, when all is serene,
Where even the sirens dare not be,
Her guardian beasts, rarely seen
At times rise to the surface to snatch and feed.
Krakens, I have heard seafarers scream,
Large tentacles ensnare all into the sea.
There are those who make their homes atop,
On ships painted in blacks and bloodied crops,
Madness and greed drive their goals and plots,
Pirates... The rebels sailing without tire or stop.
They pillage, they steal, make untrustworthy deals,
Drink all day and into the night- and then refill.
They bargain and parlay, but it never ends well,
They'd much rather take and enjoy the kill.
The ocean is dark, she is cold and fickle,
Her tongue sharp - her anger akin to a sickle.
She relays moods in accordance to her whims,
Addresses the winds, plays it a mere fiddle,
Her ire is chilling, her waters grow dim-
Black as the night her waves swallow the sky.
Any caught in her despair for certain, shall die.
There is no escaping when her malice writhes.
The ocean, she sways in uneven rave,
A rhythm pulsing at an unknown pace.
These cocky sailors whistling away,
Completely unnerved by each rolling wave.
Perhaps my existence nulls their fears-
And my chances with fate has heightened
My own over these painful years,
For they believe my survival is likened,
To that of a blessing - their moods lighten,
Oblivious they remain to the curse of living...
Lone survivor of each catastrophe I've been in.
They sing and they dance, as if it nothing!
Unnoticed the chill in the wind starts to quicken,
Bringing along a fog that begins to thicken.
The music stops but they still do not listen,
Their confidence strengthens, their eyes glisten.
Her rise does not irk them, not in the least.
Everyone gathers before their marching captain.
He bellows everyone to their posts, and then beckons,
To his cabin for a feast, just me and him.
Undaunted, unwavering, they just do not know,
She is seething a wrath of anger and woe.
He lifts his glass to my tremble and stow.
Laughs as the anguish within starts to grow.
He calls me a miracle, his men are his pride,
No one can best his ship, no one alive!
Has madness overtaken these fools their minds?
Does the crush of waves not cause a shiver?
To indulge in drink and food without quiver,
I have seen these mannerisms too many times...
We will all die, surely, we shall.
The rhythm grows fiercer, and fiercer still,
Men come pounding on the doors, loud shrills.
The captain has drank himself in a stupor,
On the floor asleep, whilst his men whimper.
I rush onto the deck, blackness rains cold,
Panic takes over, reality unfolds,
Her fury unravels the hearts of these men,
Without delay her waves engulf,
And to her ravenous depths we go...
........................................................
........................................................
........................................................
........................................................
........................................................
........................................................
........................................................
Chirps of gulls sound close, but far away.
Sunlight damns my eyes to open, I hesitate.
A blue sky clear, meets eyes of sorrowed gray,
Crisp air kisses softly, my sullen face.
Everything comes to, very slow and delayed.
This moment... This feeling...
Too many times I have replayed.
The ocean taunts me, she tenderly watches
Her waters gently brush against my legs.
Minutes find me frozen, she continues to play,
Her majesty, her beauty, sickens me great.
I stand, I call, I search frantic for hours...
Night falls in a crawl, and my mood grows sour.
The ocean sways in beats of three,
A meter rhythmic and a bit off key.
