#mermay2017
The mermaid couldn’t tell what she fell for,
was it warm blood or the lure of the soil.
A fishman she loved, for he smelled of earth
and got a soft voice always singing of her.
One day he dived to unravel his net,
a knife holding tight like his even breath.
An unknown frenzy roused in the maid
now that her lover was deep in her reign.
Deft as the eel and twice as stealth,
she closed livid arms all around him.
He trashed and screamed, mute cries of fear,
as the frigid sea water morphed in steel.
That violent rejection felt like a stab:
the silver and red maid let go of her man.
He swam to the surface, heart pounding in his head;
the erratic tides were carrying a chant.
Still frantic but bold, for one last time
the young fishman dared looking behind.
Nothing he could see except for two orbs,
red like embers and dead as a corpse.
On a full moon night he came back to her;
wild were his eyes, ashen his face.
Devoured by fever, madness and thirst,
he spoke with a voice resembling the wind:
“Cruel sea lady, you enslaved my mind,
there is no place left where rest I can find.”
At peace with his fate, he gazed at the stars
and his old, rusted knife planted into his heart.
The fishman collapsed and into her arms
he made his return to his Father’s house.
Against paleing lips she brushed her own,
already missing that heart she couldn’t overcome.
But her very nature she could not forget
and one last kiss she blew on his neck.
Even the seagulls fleed her at such sight,
as blood stained flesh and pearly-white teeth.
At the moon she’s now smiling, a red dipping grin,
‘cause he’s into her and forever will live.