(5 December 1830 – 29 December 1894 / London)

The Siren

Enter the waters,
a myriad of greens and blues,
in the calms of the ocean,
something hunts for you.

There is no where safe,
among the seven seas,
for when she stalks her prey,
of her fury no ones free.

Flee for the shoals and sandbars,
live among the reefs,
out in the open ocean is were she loves to feed,
a fight would be useless for she controls the sea,
abandon all hope when she starts to sing.

On high tide she rides,
and on rip tide she strides,
when the waters break,
in horror you'll quake.

Life on the seas is not an easy one for thee,
but death is assured by the siren, succubus of the sea,
and the sound of her harp,
shall be a euligy for thee.

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Comments (3)

Is the elegance of poetry this woman. Excellent. The suffering is this.
I did not start when the torture stung, I did not faint when the torture wrung; Let it come tenfold if come it must But I will not groan when I bite the dust.
beautiful poem, thanks