Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 5)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 5) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Briny cold sea swallowed me,

Stole breath from my lungs,

In need of air I reached for where,

Braced iron formed ladder rungs.


I grasped gasping as sea-salt rasping,

Purged my throat and gut.

Twas all I could do not to spew,

Holding tight the metal strut.


Chills spilled, ice-water steeped,

Cold crept under my skin,

Frigid sea penetrated me,

Seeped deep-down within.


I took one moment to adjust,

Gathered my wits before I rushed,

Once more beneath ocean waves,

Kicking my legs for thrust.


Beneath the buoy a wire thread,

Led down into the sea,

With hands gripping, grip slipping,

I hauled-line ahead of me.


What little light grew less bright,

Whilst deeper I descended,

A murky gloom as if in a tomb,

Into gloaming depths extended.


About half-way, or so I thought,

Line gave way to chain,

Heavily rusted, barnacle encrusted,

Ripped my hands again, again.


What drove me on beyond this mark,

Towards sea-bed in the dark?

Nothing more than a promise made,

To free a heart lost in shade.


Insistant pain hindered my gain,

But downwards I persisted,

Pressure pressed with relentless zest,

Yet somehow I resisted.


When then touch-down upon the ground:

Feet sinking in silt sand.

 Darkness stole all sight from me,

Here in this fluid land.


By sense of touch I fumbled around,

Fingers feeling for a casket bound,

Enwound by chain, leaden blocks:

Layered silt, heavy rocks.


Whether by luck or curious fate: not a box,

But a tether of significant weight,

 Taut and tied to a riveted-plate,

Headed away, straight across the floor.


Without pause or hesitation,

Nor deviation from this line,

I pulled along at rapid pace,

Knowing there was little time.


Between rough rocks, through kelp sward,

 Hastening quicker, swimming hard,

Until the cable slackened, frayed:

My head reeled, my heart dismayed.


Frantic with panic in claggy sea,

I let go the line guiding me,

Both hands grabbled across the floor,

Desperately searching for Nevermore.


Short of air, close to despair,

Unanchored from iron chain,

With lungs burning, silt churning,

My will began to wain.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 4) precedes this post. Part 6 to follow shortly ~