Briny Curse
—The Affliction of Abundance—
The ocean thirsteth, though her fathomless deeps contain
Enough of water to drown kingdoms, yet cannot slake
the thirst that salt, her ancient curse, doth breed again
within the very flood no drought could ever take;
for what should quench her is condemned to be
the brine she bears—and therefore cannot drink the sea.
The flame devoureth timber, drawing into its core
the resin, sap, and heartwood of the forest as it feeds;
yet every bough surrendered through its incandescent door
leaves in the fire a hunger fiercer than its needs;
till what should exhaust the appetite of flame
becomes the very fuel whereby it renews its claim.
The moon, dispensing argent through the sleeping land,
doth pour her borrowed splendour over vale and stone,
yet keeps within herself—where no terrestrial hand
may reach—the lightless kingdom she must call her own;
thus all the world receives the radiance she gives—
yet what she cannot shine upon is where she lives.
The wound, once closed, retains beneath the skin
the iron's ancient memory, though flesh hath grown
across the breach through which the violence entered in,
and time, that boasts it healeth all, hath only shown
how what the flesh seals over may yet remain—
the proof that what was broken had the strength to live again.
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