THE FUTURE
Far in the depths of the dark green sea
A forest of scrawny weeds
Imprisons a giant and holds him fast,
Twine themselves round his knotted hand
And chain him down to their sunless land
Where the waves rush raging past.
His face is hard with deep’ning lines,
And his eyes are glazed with slime,
Yet, deep in his heart there grows a hope
That he will be freed by time.
He is the God of Things to Be,
Chained to the floor of the thoughtless sea.