Known by many names,
Older than the land,
Engrained into every living thing's mind.
It senses, it knows.
It eggs on grief, it pushes to the limit.
It calls the lost souls, it sings for them to come.
The cold, dark Depths cares for no one
But it's warm visage reaches for those hearts,
Lost in the world, and dying to find their way.
The Deep calls with its enticing voice,
Gently singing the poor souls to sleep
Only to wake them in the morn with its true face.
It surrounds with a dark comfort,
It lulls to sleep with fear,
It chills the bones of those lost to its waves.
Old skeletons reside,
In the dark Deep of the ages
Screaming for solace in their restless slumber.
Icy; it does not wait to freeze them.
Boiling; it does not wait to burn them.
Smothering; it does not wait to suffocate them.
We are the pawns of the Depths,
We are its voice,
We are the spear-carriers.
We bring the song of the Deep to life,
We lure the lost to its hand
We long for the sailor to come.
The Deep is not to be trifled,
The Deep is tempting,
The Deep is deadly.
YOU ARE READING
Songs of the Sea
PoetryThe sound of rain pattering against my brow, Left me nothing but unease in the soft air. The slimy fresh water dripping down my sparkling face, Showed me no kindness in the waters of salt. For I cannot any longer feel the refreshing cool of that wa...
