Oh Crushing Sea
Crashing salty wet brine leaping off cold wind on to my scorched face, twisting, crawling, trying to burrow deeper into my warm shell of a coat. My fingers are numb at the deep edges.

Gulls want more, they scream at me to run in; to try and drown myself upon the soaked and scratched coral sea-bed. They are furious at me; angry that I do not care to worship Neptune in his salty temple.

They are his minions and scraggly temple slaves hooded in white; half demon -half dove. They have been cast from the frigid crushing sea to scream and cry for bread and for blood on the lonely shore.

Circling in great clouds  of white they push, they call, they plead. Into the salty tear soaked spray: the teeth of the storm. I slosh, I tremble, I fall. Sinking slowly down to a shell strewn path that leads farther down into the blackness.

-Ezra Hilyer