Finished Poem

Hello there, awesome folks. Thanksgiving is less than a week away (time flies, so it does!), and I want me some turkey! Things sure are moving very fast this November, and I'd say that that's both a good and bad thing. But let's quit beating around the bush. This post is coming later than I wanted it to (so please don't strangle me through the computer screen), but I hope you'll forgive me once you read. The other half of that poem I was working on is complete--it's been complete for a while, won't lie, but I had to tweak a thing or two and there were a couple things going on behind the scenes, but who cares?-- it is my pleasure to share it with you.

     I've managed to come up with a title for the work, and that title is: The King of the Deep. Huh? Huh? Decent, you think? No? Well... I tried... (For those of you who've not read The King of the Deep Part 1, and for those of you who have but want to refresh your memory, click here.) Now then, without further babble, here we go!

Then the wrath of the king was great indeed.

At his roar the oceans trembled.

Upon the nearest coasts of the dwellings of men

Waves of fury were assembled.

Then many mortals’ cries rang out

In prayer and supplicating word.

The fates wrought and worked that day

For one unlooked for heard.

Their cry reached the ears of Lanielia

Who paused in the waters’ caress,

And who felt a sudden pity stir

At the noise of their distress.

Forth she went, with graceful speed,

Forth unto the coast,

Where rolling waves of fury were poised

To strike many an innocent host.

Out from the sea she sprang suddenly,

Her arms raised in command.

And at the cry of her voice the waves leapt back,

Ere they dashed upon the sand.

This she did a few and several times more,

Till at last the waters took heed,

And dared not again to strike the land

Even if so the King had decreed.

Forthwith leapt Lanielia back into the sea,

And to the depths she went alone.

Till she stood before the King again

Who sat upon a pearl-white stone.

To her he smiled. “Back,” he said,

“Back you have come as a sheep.

How could it be any other way?

Who can defy the Lord of the Deep?”

“Fool!” cried she. “Pride-filled fool!

Careless abuser of might!

You hide behind your haughty strength

Because your weakness is out of sight.

The ‘Lord of the Deep?’ A prisoner you are,

Fettered against your will.

Whose anger burns at lands beyond him,

That the mortals govern and fill.

“But no longer will I allow your wrath to strike,

And bring ruin to the innocent.

Soften thy heart, pride-filled king,

Or beware my grim intent.”

The King at once leapt to his feet,

His golden eyes ablaze;

And Lanielia saw that his pride was not humbled.

He was a prisoner to his ways.

Then began a contest sharp,

A battle of the two.

A struggle such as never before was seen

In the bottom of the Deepened Blue.

The mighty strength of the King was vast;

Seven times he struck her down,

And seven times she rose up again

With wounds beneath her watery gown.

But at the last, weariness came,

Written on her face wrung with pain.

And the King smiled within and without,

Deigning to become her bane.

About her neck he fastened his grip,

In his eyes a fell delight.

For no help could come to Lanielia

To deliver her from her plight.

Yet even as her strength was quenched,

She swung hard her head.

And little and naught thought the King of this,

Thinking her already dead.

Thus when her league of snowy hair

Seized suddenly his mighty limbs

He had not time to feel as one

Whose hope swiftly dims.

From her neck her white locks pried him,

And upheld him doubly bound.

And ere he could summon the waters to his aid

At her command he was wholly enwound.

Coil after coil she threw about him

Till her hair was spent and tight.

Then with her nails, enchantment aided,

She cut the league of snowy white.

Then she took the nameless, pride-filled king

And cast him in a pit of the Deep,

Where madness roams, and soundless foams

Form about monsters that creep.

And there he has remained from that time on,

Twice-over bound in such a tomb.

But whether he has died, or shall yet escape,

Remains an unknown doom.



Keep Strong!