The little angle go on
beautiful land such as their
very beautiful our eye on it
eye was a bule Diamond

she was so beauties
didn't not a real marimaid
especially she most gone in land
I would be a merman bold,

I would sit and sing the whole of the day;
I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power;
But at night I would roam abroad and play
With the mermaids in and out of the rocks,

Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower;
And holding them back by their flowing locks
I would kiss them often under the sea,
And kiss them again till they kiss'd me

Laughingly, laughingly;
And then we would wander away, away,
o the pale-green sea-groves straight and high,
Chasing each other merrily.

The air is cool and in twilight
The Rhine's dark waters flow;
The peak of the mountain in highlight
Reflects the evening glow.

There sits a lovely maiden
Above so wondrous fair,
With shining jewels laden,
She combs her golden hair.

It falls through her comb in a shower,
And over the valley rings
A song of mysterious power
That lovely maiden sings.

The boatman in his small skiff
Is seized by a turbulent love,
No longer he marks where the cliff is,
He looks to the mountain above.
Mermaids die with mortal souls

At least that’s what Hans Christian wrote
And so we’re born with shallow holes
Where hearts should be.
Where nothing sleeps.

And when our bodies turn to froth
And mouths agape sing final notes
We wash away upon the waves
And dwindle to an arctic haze.


A darkness born of quill and ink
To drift to fog upon the sea.
His holy words.
His blasphemy.

© bhavyasree