The Kraken (#4)

(Pssst…In case you missed the first part, you can start from HERE.)

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From: gizemlervebilinmeyenler.blogspot.com and copied from Alejandro Quijano pintrest (Kinda scary, right?)

The Kraken

By Robert L. Jones III (check it out at Pneumythology)

IV. The Grip Of Grief

Behold, the human spirit rises up from unseen wells.

The ghost inhabits its machine in ways that no one tells.

Considering such questions as philosophy might ask,

Let readers weigh priorities and take themselves to task.

 

Does grief arise from selfishness or sympathetic care,

Or could it be a bit of both for those of us who dare

To suffer disappointments in the light of higher ways

And hold to hidden principles that common life betrays?

 

The insincere may speculate, but wiser men have known

By heating in the crucible are human values shown.

Do any know how they would act or speak when put to test?

Upon what final consequence will actions come to rest?

 

As into deep obscurity the Kraken left its wake,

The boy upon the cliff still watched. His knees began to shake.

His face was pale. His trembling hands clenched tightly into fists,

Responding to the rage and pain that suffering enlists.

 

He cried out incoherently, and many tears were shed.

He fell to earth and beat the rocks until his knuckles bled.

Though scarcely would he recollect just how his flight began,

It seems he did what he could do. Directionless, he ran

 

Along the coast and shouted curses muffled by the wind

From time to time, he looked about in hopes the sea might send

Her back to him, that woman whom his heart was set upon,

But sunset came with no relief. Then likewise came the dawn.

 

Upon awaking stiffly from that long and fitful night,

He raised his eyes to heaven, and he vowed to put things right.

With conscience and with memory the maiden’s cry had play.

In heart this stricken lad became a man at sea that day.

 

He charged among the breakers then, undisciplined and rash,

And, seized by pangs of hunger, looked for shellfish he could smash.

In vain he begged the ocean to make right what had been wronged.

By stubborn pride and strength of will, his journey was prolonged.

 

He slept above the rising tides and fed on what he could,

Then, through the nights, to warm himself, made fires from drifted wood.

He roamed one day, suspecting not that well beyond a bend

Stood something that would bring his lonely vigil to an end.

 

Beyond this promontory, he, by fate or providence

(No honest man could then have said for want of evidence),

Would cease his restless wanderings and stop to stare instead,

His scattered thoughts arrested by the sight he saw ahead.

  TO BE CONTINUED NEXT THURSDAY (dot, dot, dot!!)

The Kraken (#3)

(Pssst…In case you missed the first part, you can start from HERE.)

b8c14c0de55a3a61b83929cde26aaaf0
From: gizemlervebilinmeyenler.blogspot.com and copied from Alejandro Quijano pintrest (Kinda scary, right?)

 

The Kraken

By Robert L. Jones III (check it out at Pneumythology)

III. The Maiden By The Sea

Embodied now in flesh and blood, the lovely sight excelled

His prior expectations and opinions that he held.

His eyes had never looked upon or even understood

Such lithe and graceful comeliness, such perfect womanhood.

 

Her features bore the radiance of clearest northern skies

With hints of sunrise in her hair and sea mist in her eyes.

Cold winds had neither blown upon a form so pure and fair

Nor sung so strange a melody as played within her hair.

 

With nimble steps, she walked the shore, an enigmatic sign,

A creature so impossible to label or define.

Was she a common villager, one born of humble stock,

Or manifest divinity with secrets to unlock?

 

Such questioning consumed his thoughts. Her presence moved him so.

Her look reflected mysteries impossible to know.

Some sort of understanding passed from woman back to boy.

His reason searched for older words his ardor might employ.

 

The silence grew unbearable. The tension left him weak.

The maiden looked with furrowed brow as if prepared to speak,

But her expression then went blank. A faint smile crossed her lips.

She looked down contemplatively, her hands upon her hips.

 

Her suitor took a timid step, as awkward as could be,

And she, in turn, moved back a bit, although reluctantly.

So then he stopped, and so did she. This funny circumstance

Proceeded back and forth awhile, a cautionary dance.

 

Her gentle shoulders shrugged a little every now and then

She smiled at him and looked away, but soon looked back again.

He sensed her recognition then and loved her more because,

This lady had accepted him despite how young he was.

 

Still glancing back, she turned away, still silent as before,

To wander several feet from him, now drawn by ocean’s roar.

Upon a rocky point she stood, ten feet above the waves.

The white caps peaked like headstones marking long-forgotten graves.

 

Not far offshore, but twenty yards, the sea began to foam.

Then, instantly, a web of flesh broke surface like a dome.

Dark tentacles, like living whips, shot forward with a crack,

Enclosed the maiden in their coils, and quickly drew her back.

 

Her fading cry to no avail, she flew away from shore.

The moment lasted but a breath and not a second more.

She disappeared beneath the waves while, running to the bluff,

The only witness was this boy whose best was not enough.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT THURSDAY (dot, dot, dot!!)