Siren on your rocky crop,
With your silken feet resting on
vain sediment and subservient ocean weed;
Your voice beckons to them,
Calls them to you with it's dulcet,
Assuring rhythms.
Them on their once stable vessels,
Hulls stumbling over reef and rock,
Lay anchor and yearn from raging seas.
They see the treacherous stretches,
The white tipped breakers masking hidden perils,
Death lurking in icy depths.
Yet they run to the rudder,
They grasp it with smiles of ecstasy on their faces;
Drunken grins of manic desire.
They shout with joy as they sail to their destruction.
