Heated Waters
Heated waters, arsenals of the Swirling Beast,
gracious hosts for an up-and-coming lavish feast,
paradise for the hurricanes that come to dinner,
are readying their speech to proclaim the winner.
Lazing upon the glassy troughs and crests
in obedience to the dreaded tempest’s request,
they heat up as the sun casts its searing rays
in accordance with the hotter summer days.
Tempers scorching and shedding the cool about
festering in the soul for a forthcoming heated bout
with spears in the winds and swords in the water
they send the ships and the crew to a certain slaughter.
When all ashore is luxuriating in summer’s green,
the oncoming tempest comes to spoil their dream.
With razor teeth and hostility in their breath
they swoop in to inflict a certain death.
Prepare ye shipmates for a stormy ride
as the waters grow hot and burn up the tide.
Batten down the hatches and prepare for war
for the overpowering dreaded Conquistador,
proclaiming in the troughs of the stormy sea,
“The ocean that was yours belongs to me.”
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