The Spirit of the Ocean

This is a poem of water, and the poem of a man. The poem of the man who loved the water, a poem of the water who could not love the man. A poem of the love the shared and the happiness they had for the short time they had. This is a poem of death, this is a poem of life in death, and life after death. This is a poem of my death, this is my poem of the woman I loved most of all, and how I can never be with her again. In the old times of these northern lands, tales told of the spirits that roamed the Earth. The spirits that controlled all things. The spirits that caused spring and sunshine, the sprits that cause hurricanes and deadly blizzards. Even a spirit that controls the nights’ rainbow and the flow of the glaciers that carve my world. At night the sound of the mountains would sing songs of seas of grass, and a vast canvas of oceans, and the stars seemed to dance to the words. In the night while the animals and flowers slept, and the moon took charge of the luster sky, the water would dance. For hours on end I would watch her, the way she floated across the surface and how she flew along the shore line. She was the spirit of water, and I loved her. One night I decided to stand on the shore and beg her for a dance. She approached me, the water rippling as her feet glided across its’ delicate face. She would kiss me and pull away, leaving me with only her sweet scent. The mistress would embrace me in sweet innocence and purity. She would let lose her hair and the fish would stop there clamoring to make way for her, and the star fish would leap into her hair and become an elegant flower. She would rise and fall with the waves, smiling and moving her body with such elegance I was forced to join her. She would crash on the rocks and sands, making music and rhythm. As I danced with her, her slow movements drew me in. Her slow kisses make me fall in love, and yet in a matter of hours, she is gone. She is gone for the day, and with her leaves the music of the shore line and the glow of the moon. The sun rises and the wind gently blows the flowers of the marshes, making them open and show their illustrious petals. Every Flower tells a story, and every story ends the same, in love. Every story makes me long for the lady of the water, and so I sat on the beach, talking with the seagulls and sleeping with the sand, waiting for night to come, and with it bring my love. The moon arrives with his chariot of stars and at his feet walks the cruel and ever changing mistress of the sea. As the drums begin to pound and the horns begin to bellow, she approaches. I reached for her, she reaches for my hand but is pulled away by the swell. She taunts me, teases me with visions of happiness and dances of love. Once again I jump in the icy water to join her. Only one kiss is shared tonight, one final kiss of love, passion, temptation, and desire. I fell asleep in her embrace, my lips still locked in hers. I can see my body, I can see my lips ever frozen in her mold, forever locked in a tomb of ice. I set the iceberg out to see, hoping that my love would find my body and lock it away in her underwater palace, so that she may one day search for me. I died in her arms, in the icy waters of her love. My spirit can never leave land, for fear of and icy grave once again. I remain here on shore, never getting close enough to dance with my love, forever tortured. Forever to see the woman I love, without her ever seeing me, without her ever knowing I was dead, forever watching her dance in the night air, forever longing for her cold kiss….