She was tethered to the listless shore
moored and waiting, lacking buoyancy
in briny waves, caressed by swaying kelp
her salt and tears, he called her whore
and with his dominance and potency
she’s left to wait for sea’s corrosive help
When storms are pulling in their tug o’war
to cut the ties to his dependency
She leaves in joyful dance in selkie’s whelp.
And when she’s free, and her skin restored
when far ashore she dives for infancy
she merges with the waves and open doors
to meadow ballet with the asphodel
where she has ceased to be his Annabelle.
I have written something that is almost a sonnet.. the pentameter is a little bit off and the rhymescheme ABCABCABCABCDD is a little bit uncommon (it’s been named the Trireme sonnet by S. Peralta). A little bit of mythology weaved into this sad story.
Friday Fictioneers is a blogging community lead by Rochelle Wissoff-Fields and it can attract up to 100 bloggers each week. Join us and write stories or poetry to the same picture around 100 words.
June 4, 2015