Perhaps it’s Neptune’s wrath, whims of kelpie, or serpents best left alone
The stirring, whirring creatures of the deep, competing for a throne.
Leviathans below the surface, kraken at the gate
Tentacles and mouths full of teeth, below the surface wait.
Poseidon, or Proteus, or some other vengeful oceanic gods,
Sentinel before the tempest, consigned to face the odds
Throw a tempest’s tantrum, blustering off the coast
Storm clouds hammering tears, winds a prideful boast.
Gods of the Atlantic and Pacific, assume in their demands
Out stretching past their realm, trespassing on to land.
Guardian before the swirling mass, defiant as it encroaches
Ready to face the raging squall, on guard as it approaches
Preparations have been made, rations and supply.
Your ferocity as you steadily spread cannot be denied
We stand vigilant before our homes, and though some may die
You cannot take us from this place, our hope and our pride.
So, frenzy and blow, howl and blubber and whatever else you choose
Whatever the outcome, life goes on, in the end you loose
We shall rebuild, we shall endure, and thrive again once more
Ready and waiting should you return to wage your futile war.
To curse and swear, fingers in the air, standing upon the shore.