Leviathan

He didn't know what on earth to tell her –

what words will unparalyse the fearful?

She lay on the side, knees pressed to her chin,

the frail dinghy rocked by relentless swells.

Why they were here didn't really matter –

the fear, the fear only was crucial.

Each word, each gesture amplified the spin

of a churning stomach in a churning hell.

In the end he had no choice but to cover

her face with a jute sack, it was too awful

to see her thus. And much to his chagrin

he had to bind her hands and feet as well.

It took less than a minute to be over.

And because he didn't want to seem cruel

he wrapped her body in a tarpaulin,

and without ballast she sank in a short spell.

The reason why had long stopped to matter –

the guilt and the shame were his sole fuel –

the constant lies for him the ultimate sin

which kept the ghost alive in the shell.