Susurrus summons of the solemned sea
welcomingly waves, beckoning me.
I know not her wish
or where I will wash,
but only in her clutch will I feel free.
She's said to be the mother who gave life
but I see the weeping of a widowed wife.
She groans in her grief
to her submerged reef,
her only relief a jagged rock's knife.
I notice that she would not mourn for me
in her desperation for company.
Yet I let her grip;
I let the tide rip,
and she swallows me whole so hungrily.
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