WA ( / Manchester, England.)

The Sage (Verse V, Osedicus In The Storm)

Osedicus-Tawny had flown for one-moon
And his journey had not been a breeze.
The weather-front shift brought a whole different tune,
Raging winds, monsoon rains, choppy seas.

He had to fly low or get blown into space,
Which meant gliding twelve feet from the sea
So when mad gusts of wind hailed salt-spray on his face
No more sorrowful sight could one see.

With his vision impaired and his body all drenched,
An east-westerly wind as his foe,
His flight feathers stuck where salt water entrenched
Every quill, only one place to go.

He dropped like a stone and the ocean embraced
One more victim to sleep in her bed!
Join a myriad others, her wrath too had faced,
All who crossed her would all end up dead.

As he sank to her depths, one such cold irony
Had him smile on an old anecdote:
“The Owl and the Pussycat went out to sea,
In a beautiful pea-green boat”.

It was just at this stage when he first felt the heat
And his body surged up in a twist,
Where he felt himself rise by some magical feat,
Ending up in the sky’s chilling mist.

So without any haste he opened his wings,
Let the wind blow salt water away.
What he spied way below was a hot, spewing spring
Which erupted a warm, misty spray.

What became of the storm he would now never know.
But again, laughed at death in the face.
He’d transcended the clutch of the sea down below
And avoided the cold grip of space.

by Warren Atherton

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