Black, this onyx night.
Wraith-like clouds contort into dreamscapes.
Black, this obsidian sea.
A living, frothing, cutting slate
Which bereaves the air and denies it of contact.
Falling, this sailors heart;
A twisting, turning, frightened thing.
Swimming in and out of conciousness
In rhythmic, seamless transitions.
He joins a dance,
A dance with chance;
A bold, bloody rendezvous
With Posiedon in the dark.
Step one, step two,
The music whirls like the cosmos
And keeping up is a feat in itself.
Slipping, failing, falling
Is a mistake never forgotten
And mercy is a lie.
He will be sent down
Into a frigid stoppage of time;
Sent to drown
Into an oppresive azure night.
What god, what riches, what maiden afar
Could bring this wretched man
To this cold and feral sea?
This beast, This mammoth,
A monster untamed.
Wrath as pure as chaos
With a fortress as a will.
Neptune keeps his leash short,
But the latch is quickly released
Sending gnashing, wailing teeth
To rip through bone and sinew
Without thought nor feeling
To the dying and the innocent.
The old man,
He turns to face the gods,
With neither fear nor regret.
His face is niether sorrow nor joy,
Merely the calm of certainty.
For soon, he will dine with his fathers,
Soon, he will be in the the company of friends and foes alike.
On that great mountain, protruding from the sky,
Neptune will send him a wink,
A flash of pointed teeth,
And set out the finest wine.
For this old frail man,
He died trying. |