Fathoms Deep

NOT WRITTEN FOR A CONTEST I often write about the ocean's secrets, of its crashing waves that roar in apogee and the treasures it washes upon the shore. I've verses founded on tales of sailor's lore. Stanzas about fragile seashells and abalone and of gulls noisily squawking in cacophony. I've penned Sonnet filled with romantic notions in which mermaids live in depths of oceans. I wrote I'd found Atlantis beneath the waves, and chests of gold and silver in a maze of caves. I am always watching out for predatory sharks, for in ocean waters, they are considered hierarchs. I've claimed the sun cries when twilight is nigh. When his day his done, he yawns his 'goodbye.' I narrated epics of its tide, controlled by the moon, and of sirens who lure men with a beguiling tune. Poems tell of typhoons, caused by Neptune's hand, and of shipwrecks, men and cargo strewn on sand. The ocean beckons to me as I stand on the cliffs. It speaks in the breakers. My thought often drifts to how beautiful are the waters that God has made. It covers most of Earth's surface with salty brine. The magnitude of its power, I would dare not define. Much is unknown about what lies beneath the deep but all its secrets, it seems, the ocean intends to keep.