Today’s prompt was to write a “fourteener,” a poem with fourteen syllables per line. I went very traditional with iambic heptameter and rhyming couplets. The rest filled itself in.
If, in our search of waters deep, the undertow would haul
our drunken dreams to crushing leagues where foreign fingers crawl,
and choking chimneys heave and wretch their poisons in the brine
where Fate and Death swim circles round our dangling fishing lines;
If, on the bed of sodden sand, of shell and broken bone,
on strata of once fearsome beasts and beaten, weathered stone
where ghosts and greed lay deaf and dumb below their salty grave,
forever starved of heaven’s light above the emerald waves;
If, on our route through savage seas for pearls of perfect sheen,
for myths and vows of secrets hid, and treasures in between,
we chance to spy the envied glint of sunken fortune’s lore,
to stay our course would be more wise and dock at port once more.