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October 26, 2010
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Beneath the mossy bones of the ocean deep
Great spires of stone stretch their fingers high
While weaving angels wrap each rocky keep
And strands of strangling seaweed scratch the sky.
Descending deeper in the waiting dark,
Where sea-bound corpses hold a hollowed hall
And gnashing teeth trace their bloody mark,
The rotting planks of piracy that fall.
What mortal man whose breath could sway this land?
What lung could draw in words to speak its part?
The cruel soul of the sea won't spare his hand
To those who've earned his wrath with silent start.
     Can souls find sleep in such a strangled thrall,
     Where the waves find rest and stop their ceaseless crawl?

Where the waves find rest and stop their ceaseless crawl,
Raking salty claws in sandy shores,
A vain and panicked grasp before they fall;
The home of homespun hypocrites and whores.
The moon reflects in heartless pantomime
A silver orb of glowing innocence
That mocks them as they're punished for their crime,
And pays to each a circle in recompense.
Great chains to hold them in their place of woe,
They float without worth in a veil of black.
No heaven and no hell, no room to grow,
Twisting banished in the deepest crack.
     Now all the fish and feeders come and creep,
     And all the devils dance while the reapers reap.

And all the devils dance while the reapers reap
The dank and filthy souls of the wretched men
Upon the ocean floor where the monsters sleep,
In the muddy bed of the Leviathan.
The chained black demons dive as dragons rise,
Their red-hot breaths erupting in the air
While skeletal surveyors keep their eyes,
Lest any foolish mortal try his fare.
The Midgard Serpent wraps the Earth in coil,
That second circle cycling all the world,
That men within will find their hellish toil.
Bound in bone the serpent nesting, curled.
     From such depths can no one hear their call,
     The dark ones writhing in their darkened hall?

The dark ones writhing in their darkened hall
Far beneath the stabs of echoed light.
The wriggling horrors host their haggard ball
In search of shadowed lovers, darkling blight.
In lonely graves of open caves they cry,
Perverse and making love to all that pass.
And sycophants with open sores who lie
With phallic phalanges protruding, crass.
Freudian fools who fell into his trap,
Embodying the flesh above their souls,
And shot their load in every harlot's lap.
Diving pathogenic depths and holes,
     And in each whore they spill out all their seed
     To depths where no man's mark has crushed a weed.

To depths where no man's mark has crushed a weed
They sink, the thieves and liars to their grave.
Ambitious men who doomed themselves in deed
That liked for luster of the gold they crave.
Privateers who plundered from gold nests,
Whose victims felt the plunge of shattered swords,
Are stuffed like ingots in their splintered chests
And lost along with their ill-gotten hoards.
The men who wrap falsehoods around each breath
Are similar, succored in their false face,
With mouths chained shut by spikes and screws and death,
They spread their silent lies through steely lace.
     Is there, that each vile man seeks without rest,
     In seven holy hells a golden chest?

In seven holy hells a golden chest
Lies wrapped in waters turbulent and dark,
Thronged by adoring urchins on a quest
To stab the feet of men and leave their mark
While horrors with eight arms write twisting songs
In the angry churning hole where dragons hide.
Their rumbling snores shook loud like ringing gongs
And quaked the land above them when they sighed.
A single ray of light escaping down
Illuminates the rotten grove of vines
That twists and snakes its way through ruined town
And foolish villagers, who missed the signs,
     They doomed themselves for gold without a heed,
     The cursed chest called avarice their greed.

The cursed chest called avarice their greed
And beats a drum inside a gilded cage,
While languishing for gold it does not need,
It cannot hear the words of any sage.
He pounds the rhythm loud, it fills the air;
A siren song that screams to banker's hearts.
Miserly men, whose wallets will not share,
Locked away in safes they play their parts
And flock like flies around a rotting husk,
To count their chains in silvery raiment.
In this dank hall the air is filled with musk,
The smell of burning flesh in chained lament.
     The golden demon drawls at their behest
     And no one in their thralls may find their rest.

And no one in their thralls may find their rest,
Those haughty proud who spill out roses, sweet.
Defecate upon their thrones, protest
Filth that filled their veins off their mother's teat.
Were told to be Machiavellian
In their pursuits of wealth and strength and tongue,
Though they should each become a hellion
And fill each speckled street with dung.
The diarrhea slits their lips and spews
With each foul breath that mouths their stinking cess
They sit each Sunday morning in their pews,
Praying god won't notice them confess.
     Then seeing Satan grip them in his claw,
     Twisting, empty, they reach with hands of straw.

Twisting, empty, they reach with hands of straw,
Longing after baubles buried deep
And pining for perfection from some flaw.
A neighbor's nose, a lover's lips, a heap,
A mountain of their parts is piled high.
They grab and build before they tear apart,
Lying in dirt they match their joints, then die;
Ripped and pulled to shreds by a jealous heart.
And each rotting limb that grows gangrene
Is home to millions of murderous crabs
That pinch and bite and chew the muscles clean,
Little is left after their violent stabs.
     The light unreached by any soul that tries;
     Bound in dirt they claw at starry skies.

Bound in dirt they claw at starry skies,
A brilliant tapestry of shining light.
Bright anemones and corals heave their sighs,
Their tangled forests never reaching height.
A million deadly colors floating free,
They lure the lurid travelers to their doom.
Down from the ancient depths a hoary tree,
Its elder branches cover like a tomb,
And rend the ocean floor a black abyss.
Within it anglers' lanterns keep their watch
Above the drunks and gamblers man won't miss,
Buried down beneath each stone and notch.
     Each one cries out in protest from the maw,
     Against the make of Heaven and its law.

Against the make of Heaven and its law
Each rule and edict passes down its wrath,
The fatal weakness found man's every flaw
And god's destruction cut an angry swath,
That fills the fertile plains with rushing waves
To leave none living anywhere it struck.
And somewhere in the boiling ocean caves
The spiteful divers mourn their cursed luck,
In endless chasms, deep, where dead things roam,
Their drowning bubbles seep through hidden cracks.
The blizzard waters make them long for home
Its frigid warriors mounting fresh attacks.
     Though in the end their daggers pierce their thighs,
     Which dragged them down for their tempered lies.

Which dragged them down for their tempered lies?
Whose hands drew justice from their shattered forms?
Now god himself is chained down as he flies
By wayward seraphs weary of his storms.
His flesh is crushed as blood-red veins appear,
Patterning like flowers under chains.
Dragging him below the blue-green fear,
The waters douse his fire as they restrain.
Moss and lichen rise to greet their lord
As fish tear flesh in chunks from his great hide,
And in his grief Promethean he's gored,
Recovering each limb in the grim tide.
     And as god dies inside the hole he fell,
     The ink-black ocean's chapel rings its bell.

The ink-black ocean's chapel rings its bell
And each tormented soul will heed its calls.
Arising from the graves in which they dwell
Below the sea-bound citadel's green halls.
The shambling corpses drag themselves along,
Twisting sinews screaming as each goes,
While anemones and urchins spew a song.
The notes that fill the air like angry crows,
They pick at open sores on passersby
As maggots chew the flesh inside each womb
And propagate themselves with each new lie.
Oblivious to everything, their doom
     Drives them down beneath the angry swell,
     And calls the men to mass in its black hell.

And calls the men to mass in its black hell,
Each urchin and each hypocrite sits down
On driftwood pews that tremble in the knell
Of the great gong that gashes each king's crown.
The vainglorious preacher finds the room,
A tentacled Illithid calling out,
His garbled words resounding in the gloom.
He stands the pulpit trying hard to shout,
His words don't reach them here or up above.
On the blue-green velvet carpet of the sea,
A thin veneer pulled over like a glove,
Which stands between and keeps each sinner free
     Until they're dragged down in a fleshy heap,
     Beneath the mossy bones of the ocean deep.

Beneath the mossy bones of the ocean deep,
Where the waves find rest and stop their ceaseless crawl,
And all the devils dance while the reapers reap,
The dark ones writhing in their darkened hall.
To depths where no man's mark has crushed a weed,
In seven holy hells a golden chest.
The cursed chest called avarice their greed,
And no one in their thralls may find their rest.
Twisting, empty, they reach with hands of straw.
Bound in dirt they claw at starry skies,
Against the make of Heaven and its law
Which dragged them down for their tempered lies.
     The ink-black ocean's chapel rings its bell,
     And calls the men to mass in its black hell.
My first heroic sonnet crown.
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Daily Deviation

Given 2013-07-23
No Atlantis by ~JustAnotherWeekend is an astounding heroic crown of sonnets; a poetic form comprised of fifteen sonnets in which the sonnets are linked to each other by repeating the final line of the preceding sonnet as its first line and the final sonnet is made up of all the first lines of the preceding fourteen, in order. ( Featured by Nichrysalis )
:iconashimbabbar:
ashimbabbar Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2014
damn it, I THOUGHT I had posted that Edgar Allan Poe was shrieking in his grave for not having written this.
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:iconphoenixscribe:
PhoenixScribe Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2013  Student Writer
This is probably the most masterfully-crafted piece of poetry I have ever seen. If I was a gentleman I'd take my hat off to you, but since I'm a lady I'll just pick up a fan and wave.
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:iconjustanotherweekend:
JustAnotherWeekend Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Aw, why thank you.  Sorry for the late reply, I haven't been on DA for awhile so I didn't even know I had a DD until today.
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:iconphoenixscribe:
PhoenixScribe Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2013  Student Writer
You're very welcome.
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:iconmetarukitsune:
MetaruKitsune Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello thar!
Just a little comment letting you know that your absolutely amazing piece has been featured here -> kuriakyuuketsuki.deviantart.co…
&& also congratulations on the DD! :heart:
Reply
:iconjustanotherweekend:
JustAnotherWeekend Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the feature, I apologize for the late reply, hadn't been on DA for a few months.
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:iconmetarukitsune:
MetaruKitsune Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
You're welcome!
&& it's no problem :)
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:iconrandaline11:
randaline11 Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2013
Beautiful.
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:iconjustanotherweekend:
JustAnotherWeekend Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks :)
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:iconrandaline11:
randaline11 Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2013
You are very welcome :)
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