O’ what wonders lay beneath these tepid seas;
Of crystalline blue feathered with aquamarine.
Taunting a resplendent imagination,
With tales of Ishmael and the whale.
Blinding stares into reflected sun hold no clue,
As the ships bow carves through diamond seas.
Cephalopods appear in trance wielding their terminal octet,
Surely Verne pondered like thoughts in his day.
What fear instills man as he peers into the abyss;
Seemingly bottomless in it’s obsidian depths.
Trembling in rampant rhythm with the ships sway,
O’ the woes that lay at the foot of Davy Jones locker.
Tropical breezes nor Gulf Stream offer even seminal relief,
As dizzying trepidation mixes with the sting of salty spray.
Ah! Land ho would be a welcome idiom,
For desolate seas hold little respite for the sickened soul.
What fires are stoked by the likes of Melville and Verne,
With monsters of the deep once deemed mirage.
O’ the tortuous tales we conceive and do weave,
Threaded with the most sparse of truths.
~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~