Once I knew her island call. My siren
Sang from deep within the crags, her song's knife
Slicing away intellect. I willed speed
Onto my sure destruction, undue speed—
For in languor should one dream a siren
And her bed, as the shore's sharp stones will knife
Through hull and body soon enough. Her knife
I called Love, or the promise of its speed.
Wrecking on these rocks stilled song, stilled siren.
Now, siren, guide your knife. Its thrust, my speed.
Survivor Poetry Contest
Trigger 16, Form Q (Tritina)