froth churns like curdled milk
like all those seafaring stomachs
atop a bubbly rot with nautical fragrance

it does not touch the shore
for there an aged legion lays
and their sun-bleached bodies do not sway

past their figures stands an omen
a snuffed beacon to once lively men
whose souls now stain the ocean floor

night crawls patient and true
but the stars lack in their duties
and the moon must expand its efforts

so the lone sentinel burns to life
and in awakened curiosity, spins
with ceaseless, circular dance

the sentinel bellows with newborn fury
the froth stirs in dire frenzy
and as the stony legion is overwhelmed
the rocks bled black as they fell