The Ocean |
| by Michael Anderson |
On a cold Winter's night by the river walking,
Talking to myself, doing this just fine.
By the mouth where the soft waters tingle,
Intermingle with the ocean, divine.
Though warmly dressed I began quivering,
Shivering as I stared out at the sea.
Silent and eerie, dead and dreary.
How ominous it seemed to be.
The breeze blew cold and then blew colder.
Older I felt as if by reprise.
My candle flickered and I winced,
Convinced somehow this sea had eyes.
The fire not a glare or gleam giving,
Living, solely, a symbol of light,
Set my mind to wander, sincerely ponder-
The eminencies of night.
Still staring on into the stilling,
Chilling channels of the dark and deep.
The wind wrought its wrath upon me, willing.
Enthrilling my heart with the sky's weep.
As every vow or value that ever held me,
Or compelled me to feel bound to keep,
Along with shame, the candle and flame-
Were unmercifully thrown to the deep.
Given their eternal sleep.
But with tempestuous winds emerging,
Purging the ocean of all it despised.
With the pelting rains of coldness calling,
Falling from a sky misprized.
Enveloped in the darkness, obscure,
Demure, peaceful, tranquil, refined,
The embellished sea lie still for me-
And my name, whimpered and whined.
In utter shock I stood there, stalling.
Calling me, still, the voices arose.
Whence in the ocean I beheld drifting,
Lifting my spirits, a single rose.
Ah, such beauty, so sweet, so pure,
Surely I would not let be drown nor froze.
So it came to be, I stepped unto the sea-
For the love of a virgin white rose.
Following the flower, the waves riding,
Abiding to its inevident will.
I walked on the water, never sinking,
Thinking to myself how odd, how ill.
Coming closer I reached down grasping,
Clasping tightly the treasured prize.
Blood spewing dripping, the flesh ripping-
As razor sharp thorns began to incise.
The night's echo amplifying my cries.
With pain I was incapable of bearing-
Tearing through my aching, hollow soul.
I dropped the flower I loved so dearly,
Clearly now paying the ocean's toll.
The voices of the sea now began laughing,
Quaffing at my sole demise,
As I turned for shore, seeing land no more.
The black sea touching the blackened skies.
I knew no stars this night were glowing,
Showing me the way in which I'd fled.
And, indeed, with no sense of direction,
Reflection rolled rampant through my head.
Oh, the weakness I displayed being taken,
Forsaken by the flower of the sea.
This pervious sea, and yet not to me.
This pernicious entity.
Astounded by such an act of treason,
Reason I searched for in my head.
Why the candle and rose were displaced,
Erased to the eternal depths of the dead.
Why the wicked water, devoid of caring,
On sparing me was seemingly bent.
Then in fear for my life, with endearing strife,
I ran with all human extent,
Feeling the ocean's ungodly intent.
In the direction I was fleeing,
Seeing no resemblance of land.
Stopped, I, for the sake of breathing,
Seething at the sea's sadistic hand.
With every ounce of hope diminished,
Replenished by ill-fated fears,
I lay on the placid ocean of acid,
Vowing no more tears.
It was then I noticed the ghost ship sailing,
Hailing some incandescent light.
With not a glare or gleam giving,
Living solely an adornment of Night.
It was seemingly anchored, the waves riding.
Abiding to the ocean's every will.
Never proceeding, never receding,
Forever sailing, setting still.
I wondered what they must be after,
In laughter at unconscious reiteration.
But all thoughts and words lay unspoken,
Broken, the infernal brine's intimidation.
Whence in the water I beheld drifting,
Lifting my spirits, a single rose.
Ah, such beauty, so sweet and pure.
Surely I would not let be drown nor froze.
Such a beautiful virgin white rose.
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(c) 1999 Michael Anderson Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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