415 B
415 B
I curse ye!
below the waves below the sea thrust down deep under the trident's tines three
crushed cracked and cleaned by crustaceans and cetecean
the light ever weak the end never near in the black ink of night for year upon year
grasped tight by lines and wracked in defeat with no final rest and no maker to meet
so I curse you!
to the bottom to drown endlessly
to be forgotten forever
a part of the sea