Down where the Land defers to the Sea
like the edge of an offered blade,
a channelled ocean flows harnessed yet free
through trenches millennia made.
At the pool of my blood I’m cut to the bone
fractured cliffs rise up to defend,
my heart echoes through chambers forever alone
with a pulse that no steel could end.
Your love is a sword that rusts in the tides
thrust too deep to ever withdraw,
like the Myth of a King who drew it but once
to find himself ever at war.
© Wolfgar 2019