Song of the Sea

A briny echo slipped in vain, mounts soon a tidal ache.
A cry from which a welling chest, springs forth a fatal spate.

Emotion brimming to a choke, felt gripping at the throat.
How much water can be held, in such a tiny boat?

Cast off the shattered stone, for ourselves we cannot keep.
A frail mirage no longer needed, the final lark’s song sweet.

Mother’s come to reclaim her fate, and cosset them with care.
Her soggy fingers they soon grasp, her seaweed twines their hair.

Into their lungs she breathes her life, their bosom at once afloat.
Her ocean lips release their hold, their bellies a rotten bloat.

The weighted bodies press her palms, their cheeks a horrid bloom.
At last to bore her children home, inside her salty womb.