The vivid green paws

 

Of the sea

 

Played with the rock cliffs, batted

 

Them like torn twigs,

 

Buffeted in the barking 

 

Winds of the gale,

 

Swatting the pale, 

 

Cardboard king,

 

On the hill, unseating him,

 

Pretender to his mournful, desolate throne

 

Of death,

 

Built of a splintered tree

 

On desecrated lands,

 

Sending him tumbling down

 

In his tinseled crown,

 

Only to take up his beguiling tune again

 

On his fife 

 

And his drum.

 

Soon

 

The wail

 

Of the waves

 

Overwhelms all

 

The spires of existence

 

When

 

They slip

 

Heedless,

 

In dim

 

Strands through darkness

 

Into the abyss.

 

Almost gone the waffling

 

Tip-toed, tall,

 

Top-hatted

 

Arrogance

 

Of the feeble minions

 

In white wigs

 

That used to trip

 

Along after the weak and wobbling

 

Pied piper who, it was said, chains and enslaves 

 

All life,

 

Yet who one day saw

 

Even his fife

 

And his drum

 

Fall

 

Down 

 

Into the green dance.

 

Now he too is gone into the wild, primeval,

 

Laughing hiss

 

Of the waves of the sea,

 

No more to be.

 

Gone by the power of the paws

 

Of the sea,

 

The clamping jaws,

 

The widening maw of the watery, untamed beast 

 

Of the sea,

 

Of the earth,

 

Who rides forth

 

On the mist of the east,

 

From unmapped horizons.

 

Now she is running

 

Ever so swiftly

 

On her bright green paws

 

To take back the night of innocence,

 

Of steep stillness

 

And stars unknown,

 

Born of ancient, bright-winged stone.

 

©Sharon St Joan, 2019

 

Photo credit: Photo of public domain work of art / The Great Wave off Kanagawa / Katsushika Hokusai / Wikipedia