Davy Jones Locker

Beware young lad, tis the dawning of thy demise, For the water witches screams, are carried on the Winds breath, of the tidal waves hurricane. Be-she, the banshie of the fathom’s abyss, treacherous Mistress, beguiling temptress, enslavement's captive, Whom belongs to the sailors devil himself, Thus she announces her masters arrival, Known is he, as Davy Jones. Aquatic demon, the soul feast-er, appearing perched Upon the four masted sailing vessel, a seething fiend, With ivory white fangs, red piercing eyes flash against The storms rage. The predator to prey ratio, delights this beast, from hell's Deepest pit, it's relishing laughter, does chill the mariner, To their very bones within. Atop his ghoulish head, arises bullish horns, to drive The undead, beneath the seas watery realm. Fly swiftly, all seafaring men aboard, for the dark wrack's Shadow, mars thy voyage, for death's imitate sacrifice. Crimson gloves, do hold a set of golden keys, to chains Shackled locks, behold phantom wave stalkers. Lost souls of the forgotten, servitude’s salves of the Murky bottoms depths. Treasures locker keeper, within the heart of the sea, Does lie, a cold guardian stands watch, over it's Precious contents, bound forever as persecution's Divine punishment, from Poseidon, the great Lord of the seven seas. Answering their captain's hailing, the soulless crew, Climbs aboard his ghostly craft, heading ever upwards, To the unknown beyond. Accursed windjammers, cutting against the rough surf, Emerging as a seaweed covered derelict, it charges forth, Riding upon the edge of the ultimate storm. At fates spinning wheel, Davy Jones hands are set steadfast, Awaiting the newly undead, to join his brackish crew. The living pray for mercy grace, salvation's angels Save us, pleading on knees bent low, Oh Lord Almighty, Hear the sailors voices, crying out in sheer terror. But the devil dues must be paid, for other Mariner’s safe passage. To night behold the tolls collection plate is passed, And is served by evils blackest hand, nay it's filled Not in gold, but instead ti's flesh to the living bone. Served on a silver platter, to none other then Davy Jones himself, listen to his echoing laughter, Filling the chilled air's darkness, Than plunging beneath the briny depth's below. Nothing remains but a legend's myth or so It is said. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN