The hour dragged, and the ocean called
The waves lapped at the sandy floor
Her untimely rage, her sweeping calm
Knew of a day with a softer yawn
The shells, with their brittle cover
Were held loft on the ocean’s tossing lover

The bell cried out, the rain fell
The sea dragged them down to hell
She took them kindly, took them cruel
She snatched the evil to the reflective pool
Their eyes, were shined, like polished reeds
Were they jewels they’d be a collectors need

And heavenly boughs of seaweed wrought
That twisted, and cooled, and turning off
That swam through the ancient days
In which the serpents slept, angels prayed,
In which the days of past were crafted away,
away


The time was now, the rain, streaked
The hour was here, yet the waves wreaked
Whirls of sand
Unable to truly stand
The eerie calm, if it were able to be understood
Was worse, perhaps than the storm
Which upon its will, would
Her anger, do we understand
For naught, and for nay
do we reap
Our lives does she hold in her hand
Today


Waves, they come back to us
Waves, perhaps they leave
Had they been the conclusion of
Our thoughts, then, perhaps
They would’ve our savior
Weaved

She doesn’t wait
Never does she care, nor believe
That the time calls for her to stop
And our hour is of broken wreaths

She calls them, forth, and under,
Time, the hour, to and fro
Where did they travel?
Where did they go?
She drifts, out
Here they know.

And those she loves,
she holds very dear
and during our day
her waters hear

But pray for your soul
if you do hold
a dagger wrought
with fresh water holds

So clear and soft,
so calm and held
How she can turn
on even the softest bells!

And may she be loved
For all her seas
When the tides do turn
May we be free