The Beast

Something is moving 
Under the water

Flowing steady as a current
Heading toward the land
Closer to the shoreline all the time
Swelling so close to the surface I can see the ripples from its spiny back

Wind and tides and storms at sea

All make waves but not like these
The beasts who live down there have grown
And want to flex their muscles
They need to feed to survive

Those who fed them scraps and helped to break their chains
Will be shown no mercy from any side
Will discover a world without shelter
Will cry for a past they could have changed
And for their future world of wind
Fishers with their hooks and nets lay traps for things that live in the deep
To harvest beasts you have to think as they do
You have to see the horror of the hook
And feel the pressure that holds them down
You have to ignore the life of peace that calls to you
At least until you drop the net
And sink into the clay

No sound disturbs the slumbering beast
But, once woke, no sound can lull it back to sleep
No appeals can be made to reason or right
The beast has heard it all before
The beast is tired of listening
The beast has spent its patience in hopeful times
The beast does not believe it can win
It wants to watch you lose

When I was a child I saw the beast marauding on dry land

Reptilian delight on full display
Screams of babies glowing in red eyes
Ancient lies slithering from forked tongues
Under respectable cloaks
It has since thrown off

Tiny claws, sharp as a ragged nail
Hysterical shrieking, purposefully disorienting
Accompany the rising beast
Instantly recognizable nightmare
Tribal warnings, remembered tales
Nothing can prepare us for the naked beast
Nothing can prepare the naked beast for us

Celtic snake artwork by Elizabeth (
Ocean artwork by Ran Ortner (

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