Abyssal

The waves are the embodiment of mystery,
An oblivion of crushing weight and shadow,
More unknown than the dark side of the moon,
Though its wane and wax has a rhythmic aria to it,
The abyss has a song all its own,
A dread tune,
Like tentacles licking at your eardrums,
Distorted static of whalesong,
The crunch of crabshell underfoot,
Its lyrics manifest as thalassophobia,
A warning in the mind,
Sharks teeth and squid beaks upon your nape,
Salt and brine on your tongue,
The knowledge that man is not welcome.

Isonade

Upon the sea we rest,
Callused hands upon nets and scales,
The winds rise in warning,
Waves lashing at our hull,
Begging us to flee to shore,
The storms know what approaches,
The monster the waters try to hide,
Teeth like tantos approach,
Ichthyology turned to nightmarish design,

The shadow cutting betwixt waves,
This is no shark,
No animal of biological leaning,
But a yokai,
A dread spirit of myth,
Isonade,
A barbed tail like a typhoon,
Ready to impale fleeting lives up on deck,
It could be our briny and thrashing end.

Dark Fathoms

The day finds its demise,
Tossing and turning,
My rest is interrupted by eldritch fingers,
Emanating a foul energy,
Tentacles in my mind,

I dream of fathoms deep,
To airless environs,
Where even fish dare not venture,
Waters claimed by spectres and arcane chants,
Where the sun and sanity both drown,

Something stirs,
Eyeing the surface with a million oculi,
A million definitions of mad hunger,
Watching a world it seeks to extinguish,
A million maws curling into grins.

Whalesong

Upon this shingle beach I rest,
Reclined beside my own thoughts,
Healing from the worlds hurts,
Being renewed in the saline spray,
Breath of the sea,
Yet above the collapsing waves,
A sombre tune swims to my ears,

A sad symphony of baleen chorus,
The echoing voice of a lonely titan,
Aural tears,
She has been on a pilgrimage for far too long,
Crossing faultlines as melancholic images cross her minds eye,
Chanting a hymn of a deeper blue hue than even the deep itself,
I feel her pain as the song arrives upon the waves,

It strikes me not as a romantic sorrow,
But a family lost,
Her song tells of harpoons and red thrashing bubbles,
A young life cruelly seized and a mother broken,
Each moan a maternal dirge,
I count my blessings amongst the land,
And wonder if the swell itself is her tears.

The Sinking of the Dead Jester

Here I tell you a tale quite grim,
On this gelid autumn eve,
Of a vessel taken by the great blue,
A languid ship dubbed the Dead Jester,
Of no particular valour nor deed was this ship known,
Save for the incompetence of its circus of a crew,
Captained by a blind clown of advanced years,
A lookout unable to discern port from star,
And helmed by a mute convicted maniac,
The locker had only to wait for its prize,
The waves have all the time in the world after all,

This abomination of a crew,
They were destined for the abyss,
They had no care for this fate though,
There were nightly mutinies over scraps,
Every malm travelled was stricken with insane discontent,
Clowns wrestled with jugglers over imaginary lifeboats,
One man carved a hole in the hull looking for god,
The ship obliged yet in the wrong direction,
As the terminal aspect of the vessel descended,
No souls of worth were lost,
None shall be missed or mourned.

The Smuggler

We are criminals,
We are dead men walking,
Smugglers and felons all,

A pall falls over our vessel,
A dark mist,
A palpable guilt,
As if the sea knows our illicit purpose,

A distant lighthouse stands guard,
Its light is our doom,
The tension is tangible,

The white coast is a reminder that we are outcasts,
The cliffs tell us we are doomed,
The chines call with a foil behind their backs,
The surf tries to drag us to the gallows,

Our vessel a prize for the law,
Our cargo a trophy for Customs,
The disquietude is discernible,

Waves lash at the hull like blades,
A far-off sentry spies us,
The sea knows,
The sea grins.