The Fisherman

April 28, 2008
Waves rose about the man's head.
If he'd been caught, he'd surely be dead.
Mind racing, he searched for his spear,
And stabbed at the monsters which constantly appear.

He's no idea for what lay in store,
For a man so strong, but a man so poor.
Although he was catching beasts of the sea,
He could not cook his food, in the place where he be.

Starved and deprived of his essential element,
The man developed the rage of an elephant.
"Stop your crying!" he screamed to the clouds.
"I can't have my meals in this deadly shroud!"

"I've plenty of water and need no more,
You're killing me softly in this constant downpour!"
Little did he know, the clouds didn't care.
They would not listen, they would not dare.

The heavens forbid them, long, long ago.
When they told the fish everything they could see, and could know.
Since they saw denizen upon denizen, stacked on top of the boat,
They'd decided to drown the man in his own abode.

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