Swept Away

What if the grieving
Son had taken arms,
After all, against
The sea of troubles,
To end his heart-ache?

All his wiliness
Got him and others
Killed young anyway.
It’s a confession,
That soliloquy,

The most terrible
Confession there is—
Against the waves, no
Victory except
Complete surrender.

Civilization
Was birthed to refute
This condition. Gods
Were stormy heroes
Subjugating seas,

Dismembering waves,
An end to chaos,
Sinuous monster.
Their failures whisper
In all waves and winds.