THE GIANT                   

Squally wind. A ghostly army

Sweeps upon the sleeping sea,

Goading, prodding relentlessly.

The rhythmic breath

Of the sleeping giant is disturbed.

His green depths slowly stirred

Into sluggish anger.

Waves form like goose flesh then,

Small and choppy upon his skin.

Fully awake the giant shrugs

His mighty shoulders and rises

From the depths.

Ships behold this awesome sight,

They see his anger at its height

And in reverence bow.

Spiteful winds that nip and bite

And lift the seaweed of his hair 

Until the giant can no longer bear

The hostile thrusts

And in frustration twists and turns,

Around him icy water churns

Like bubbles in a cauldron..

Then with powerful roar he thunders in

Towards the shore,

And hurls his body in torrid fury

At all that stand before

His angry might.

He throws white dappled arms

Towards the dark and leaden sky

As if to implore someone on high

To stop the torturous wind,

Then will crash in wild despair

Earthbound, back to where

Rocks sweep the edge of sand.

Foam is the death froth on his lips

It issues forth,

Hissing a dying sigh, the giant moves and slips

Across the darkened sand

Bursting bubbles crack and disappear

The giants force is spent.

The sea is calm.