A broken siren, devoid of any call,
cast adrift traversing land unseen.
My Poseidon, my hope.
Won’t you cast me a rope?
Some marks, some letters,
some speck of honeyed ambrosia.

Must glass needles sheer me from below and inside?
A siren I unseen, ugly in my self-imposed calamity,
you stride armed trident,
the seven seas at your feet.
Happily healthy,
a tyrant living free.
Your coral crown rakes away lives,
eternally sustaining life spans,
dealt and stolen by your hands,
never to have been,
Oh woe is you and me.
These glass needles have ripped me clear.

Originally composed Thursday 29th October 2015 – Amended right now, as I listen to Adele’s “Hello” and the many, many remixes of this beautiful song. 

The theme and thoughts that ran through my head, were one of communication as I awaited a letter, which still hasn’t arrived. Also due to my class, the previous day on connotations and visual methods, where we dissected the old Jean Paul Gaultier advert (below), I obviously had sirens, conveying messages, being cast adrift etc on my brain.