Dark as the stormy sea,
The witch’s heart before me.
Her eyes are of the bluest hue,
But deep inside she sees right through
Her hair is black as midnight,
Something of a beautiful fright,
She lures us men down under the tide,
Surely the rules of death she must abide,
The song she sings is pure evil,
but all the men hearing this lull, fail to see the she-devil.
The souls of sailors lost,
lost on stormy nights, but to her it is the smallest cost.
She has a name of course,
for all evil must.
Her name is nothing near that of remorse,
neither is it something just.
The name she wields is the same as mine,
the name she owns is older than time.
I can see through her illusions,
but I cannot see my own delusions.
Her voice rings over the seas,
giving her any sailor man that she'll please.
Her song is alluring,
as well as her whispers which are ever assuring.
My feet move towards her,
but my soul forever eludes the sea whore.
Copyright © Pamela Shepard | Year Posted 2021