briny seas

The briny seas still wash you and me
wave-slow and thoughtfully.
When all the tears have run,
when time's great hanky has dried 'em,
the briny seas remain
to smish
and smash,
to tumble our thoughts,
to wash,
leaving myth
rounded and jewel-like
of once jagged shards,
blooded history.

All that blood,
o' great ones
               o' passionate ones
                             o' zealots
and infidels,
all that blood
has perhaps run into the seas
and their song
wrings myth
from out of history.