Herculean Oceans, Vassals Of The Sea (3) Poem by Captain Cur

What spirits thrive in the bowels of these remote worlds
For they are life exemplified by trenchant cold,
These spirits cannot fail! They must never die!
They hold the keys to a mighty realm, the keepers
Of the abyssal plain who walk the ocean floor.
Seafaring men have spoke of these unearthly forms
Satiating their hearts with foreboding and fear;
Outlines of ghoulish shapes in tempestuous storm
Erubescent manifestations thinly veiled
On shifting tundras unfathomably deep
Where the voluminous waves mingle evenly spread
Gathering within themselves and mightily peak
Crashing down like edifices of liquid stone.
Some in their ignorance might call them hideous,
Scarred and riven faced with glowering caustic eyes,
Crude and elementary as all monsters seem;
Still their hearts pledged in sweet dalliance with the sun
And bask in the soothing trails of calm moonlit scenes
Voicing love that rises through the depths of silence
Forever enveloped by unbreakable vows,
A godsend to man, though man disassociates
Forgetting his original position, bowed.
Trapped beneath a crushing wilderness, deeds unsung,
Despite manmade menace, faithful, steadfast and mild
With peaceful solemnity will they always be
Staunch valiant caretakers and vassals of the sea.
In formidable currents to be reconciled,
May their gracious selfless acts never be repealed
By man, their presence novel but misunderstood,
As we ourselves are predisposed for greater good
Together in a pact our lives and theirs will seal,
To fully give ourselves to Herculean Oceans
We can redeem ourselves, we can begin to heal.