The Lagoon

There is a beautiful, blue lagoon I know

that is as deep as the oily pupils that draw me in.

Here I have spent many a frescade as spring's knosps vesuviate

and the shock of her gelid grasp makes me vociferate.

The glacial water is a welcome rest from the unsubtle sun

but there is an ominous dread that ripples on her surface

that makes me stop short and merely dip my timidly trembling toes;

a mutual fear that leaves me feeling exposed.

I hear tales of men being lured by her irrecusable charm,

and falling in to a liquid lysis, never to be seen again.

Yet I know that I'm a strong swimmer, a match for her pernicious pull;

how could such serenity be harmful?

Legend says that the lagoon is so perilous

because she doesn't want those lovers and lazers to leave.

Those fears are allayed by my intense admiration for her gentle tact

and a desire to stay in her loving grasp.

Besides, it is a fact that water is vital

and her dulcifluous drops are the only ones I'd ever long for.

Despite unwarranted worry's repines, her resplendence is a refulgent refuge

that deserves more than a response of a subterfuge.

And so I dive in, with a cerulean coalescion

looking past the caliginous fear to the depths,

and once in, the depths become diaphonous that the eidolon I see

is merely the internecine fear that resonates in me.

My lecanoscopic love will not lacerate my lungs

nor will my constant craving cause kraurosis.

So I ask to madefy my desire to swim, and in turn I shall pacify her fear

hoping that her hesychastic heart shall keep me near.