O, behemoth of the deep, great tentacles lurking
What bewilderments of eyes, vortexes hypnotizing, beckoning
Silent feet skulking, and shining fingertips shirking
Slipping unnoticed, drawing closer, defying all reckoning
What innocent will next gasp its last breath?
Will gills flutter madly, fins spasmodically jerking, to escape the vast maw?
Or will lungs be deluged, astute mind dulling under the weight
Of the crushing muscles, the slopping suckers, the mauling jaw?
The fiend has no conscience, no comprehension of death
Blindly it devours, relentless, unstoppable, ensnared in its fate

Yet, exult; be not frightened, for the brute is locked away
Terracotta skin is immobilized, and Father Time’s shackles
Clutch slippery skin in their unyielding grip, keep the monstrosity at bay
One may observe the beast safely, with mild interest, hear it cackle
But now that the creature is harmless, one may feel that it is a shame
One cannot malign a silent defendant; where are the morals? one may shout
There is no lawyer in sight for this accused being, one may muse
Perhaps mania has afflicted it, desperation, famine, or drought
There is no proof of its belligerence; it may even be tame
Truly, before judging another, one must walk a mile in their shoes