Peacock clouds compress oppressive rusting mustard skies,

Straining for the heaving heavens, swell-top droplets fly,

And toiling in the rain-spoiled roiling, unheard seabirds cry.

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Lumbering their foetid fervour, undulations run,

Death-cold depths drag driftwood farther from the living sun,

And in the tug, in net-wreathed grandeur, stands the Storm-Sung One.

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Around his form the storm-eye lies and holds the water still,

His finger clicks a thunder-crack, the lightnings smite his will,

And every tear a raindrop, as the stained and rent skies fill.

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His heart's as long and frostbit as the lying leagues below,

His mind's a placid torrent of the deepest indigo,

And watch his taut eyes slacken as the tumbling wave crests grow.

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That face is shadowed corners while a storm-riff fills the air,

He summons the horizon and a far off clifftop there,

And stepping from his vessel shakes the darkness from his hair.

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This is the beginning of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. It can just about stand alone, but I always felt it was just the beginning of something. I imagine the central character to be a man who can bend nature to his will. He's the manifestation of the primal forces of the world in human form, so he's tempestuous, passionate and pretty much outside of morality and convention.

I'd really love some help carrying it on, and feel free to do anything with the plot (it doesn't have one yet). All I ask is that you stick religiously to the rhythm, alliteration,tone, internal and external rhyme and dense style. I know that seems a lot to ask, but it was a new experiment for me at the time, and I'd really like it to stay consistent.

updated Aug 11 '09 by evieprich