What is it about the sea,
that heaving mass of endless grey,
that stills and saddens me
and bends my thoughts like clay?

Upon the undulating mass
the waves warp and glisten
like a field of broken glass
and call to all who’d listen,

“I am the mother of the storm
and waters all return to deep.
I am the Chaos given form.
Remember son that while you sleep
the moon will wax and wane;
you cannot fight the rain.”