Under the sea, the microbes feed on the waste; animal remains and organic decay. For they are the forgotten victims of the wars.
Under the sea, the crustaceans look above them, hunted, yet always looking downwards to the food. They hover, hunting, above the sludge.
Under the sea, the plankton goes unnoticed, yet it fill oceans as big as continents and sustains creatures the size of houses. Given the right conditions, plankton glows, pulses and shines.
Under the sea, the sharks go where they please. Their predatory eyes always scanning. They are the politicians of the war-ravaged region that feast on lobster, oysters and caviar.
On the sea, a boat. It bobs in the undulating waves; it’s at the mercy of the perpetually changing tides.
Above the sea, the exiled king sits. He casts his net but dredges up nothing but murky water. One day the net will close and he’ll catch the sea, and everything in it.
I clearly had music in my head when writing this. Mostly of the La Mer / Beyond the Sea variety.
Awaiting judgement. Hopes are not high.