Victim of the Rogue
Rhythmic waves dashing crashing,
expanded ripples racing from the core,
Poseidon blowing out his despotic air,
mountains of waters in their unrest,
lines of ivory steel in unison,
foam of the madness flying in the air
from the heart of the Neptunian giants
flying toward the bow of the ships,
racing with the tempo of the air,
poem of the tempest in true cadence,
in poetic swells and rhythmic pounding,
warning ships to steer into the face,
to look into the eyes and feel the fury,
to take precaution in the turbulence
in tempo with the rhythmic pounding
and reach the harbors safe and sound,
the mission of the rogue wave, with evil
in its eyes and violence in its breath,
straying from the parade of the waves,
going west against the southward flowing
with a roguish intent on its evil mind,
a rebel on its own chosen path,
an outcast of the brotherhood of waves,
the evil crashing
against the rhythmic lines,
the playground of the beast of the sea,
child of Satan from Davy Jones’s locker
rising up to the stormy surface
and setting sights on one rolling ship,
lashing against the fragile starboard side
until it becomes mangled
from the beating,
then the slow ascent
down to the ocean floor,
the graveyard of the victims of that one
evil rebel of the brotherhood of waves,
to the home of the rogue wave beast.
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