Wednesday WIP: Lost Lord of a Dead Sea (A Merfolk Tale...or is it Tail hehehe?)

 

I've been sitting on this little merfolk story for a while now, slowly expanding it and revising it and generally second-guessing my way out of releasing it. It is getting closer to being ready though and as such, I wanted to share the poem that inspired the story. I wrote it over two decades ago and couldn't get the imagery out of my head. The story grew out of it and I can't wait to share it with you, hopefully later this year. 

Lost lord of a dead sea

With eyes like shattered chartreuse stones

Long hair shimmering blue in smoky mist

Scarred! Burned! Branded!

Your life's tale etched into golden skin

My lord, my lost lord

Tattooed with selkies and dragon kin

Pouting lips and whimsical smile

Heart of an angel

Soul of a ravenous beast

We've never forgotten

Fingers soft

long talons curled to stroke your palm

Voice like dolphins singing down a storm

Touch of a bricklayer, rough and grating

Flesh grown ragged with time

My lord, my dear, sweet lord

Who sits mourning beside the ocean

Scales coursing cerulean and violet down your spine

Foam caressing your skin, a silhouette of silver

Mighty sea lord cursed to walk the land

Lost lord of a dead sea

Waltzing through graveyards longing to taste the past

Dancing with flames, burning out ancient memories

Screaming at the gods, raging against death, pleading to live forever

Then hating every moment of it

We've never forgotten

Who walks the night shrouded in spider's webs and slivers of glass

Talking to ghosts and flirting with destiny

Guarding the gates to the places we fear to tread

You saw forever and longed for something grander

Then went and found it

You are the ruler of this dead sea

Rule it wisely or there'll be nothing left 

 

***   

 The old god sleeps in a forgotten cavern, his trident resting at his feet. For decades his conch horn has sat silent, collecting barnacles on the coral pedestal where it lay. It’s silent here, in the depths where viperfish swim undisturbed. His flesh grown white from lack of sun, his hair as silver as a vampire squid’s eyes, he rocks in placid slumber, reduced to a whisper, a ghost in the minds of those who’ve never laid eyes on his magnificence. While the elders wait for him to rise and be the Poseidon of old, riding his ancient helicoprion through the kingdoms dispensing justice and ending wars, the youth rise up in rebellion, throwing aside the old ways and threatening to spill their conflicts onto the land.