The ocean is a lonely deep; dark… briny….
Churning out sea foam as it crashes against a rocky shoreline.
It whispers in your ear to come explore,
Parting its early morning mist inviting you to row onto the moonlit black.
You enter your boat, you do not know why.
You lock in your oars and cast off your line.
No one knows where you are or where you’ve gone.
The thick salt air overwhelms your senses and you begin to pull.
The subtle calm has lured you into the ocean’s embrace.
The last stars in the sky on the horizon, the first rays of dawn,
you feel at peace.
A gull’s cry draws your attention to port; where you see a rogue wave approaching.
You try to turn your bow into the oncoming assault but realize too late,
the lonely deep has drawn you out and you are caught in her trap.
Like the angler-fish of the deep, the maws of this briny beast are snapping fast.
As your boat rolls and you go under, a wave of panic washes over you.
You feel the phantom hands of countless lost souls grabbing you and pulling you down under…
Or is that just the seaweed? You open your eyes and realize no one is there.
You spot the surface and start climbing, fighting to get to that breath of air.
How did one wave plunge you so deep? If you don’t make it, will you be at peace?
Your body overtakes you and the taste of salt floods inside.
A gasp for air becomes a last cry of despair as you realize the cold you feel underneath
The surface is fading out of sight, sinking deeper…how is daylight turning into night?
You feel the seaweed tugging on you again,
this time you see the eyes of the man whose hand is pulling you deep.
You do not know it but you have been summoned to join the feast.
As you close your eyes you feel a chair beneath your seat.
You awaken at the table of the beast.
With countless other souls breaking their morning fast,
In Davy Jones locker…