Redefining melancholy

The Great Sea. Of people. 

So great that even if we lay on the shoulders of giants, we are part of it. And the giants themselves stumble to map the depths of the crimson trenches. Where fire smolders and bursts out vivid memories, that's the root of the sea. 

Ocean hides nightmare that envelops truth. So even if the curtain falls, and its edge falls evenly, dare we look into the currents? Chaos lurks so vapid it seems it has become one with the currents. The only footing you can find for yourself is the fire that consumes you from deep inside, such is the soul, such is where I lie reminiscing about you.

Submerged, my heart shouts with ice shards so ethereal. Plunge upwards through the waves, crash into the clouds below the surface and get hit by the space between the air. 

Light is for air what the trench fires are for the ocean. An order that faintly manages to grasp mere inches of my chaos.

I long for air, but I belong to the sea. Should I let go of the chaos that surrounds me, I'd fall ill. Would the birds let me recover on their tender wings? Would I grow healthy from the subtle song of a Jackdaw? I wouldn't even manage to define myself. If stripped of chaos, what phantom could it produce.. even a shadow, cast upon the waves in Melancholy.

And should the shroud engulf enough waves, the waters would stay still and the waves would lose their strength and the surface would be gentle. Like the song of a Mockingbird.

So the cries of the below would mirror the chants of the upwards order. All that stems from the soulless body of me, stripped of chaos and thrown into order.

But the fires would still smolder, and their smoke would be the pillars of all the forgotten pain, that would hold me, after the birds grow weary. 

Leave my thoughts in crumbles on these pillars, I'll pick them up when I rise again from the depths, with my soul reforged a million times over. For I am Nature, I am Nature, Mother to you all.

You decide where you stand, when my father, Time, sends the sharks to fry on the Sun and the birds have their eyes frozen, locked on what was once their playground, stunned in a watery museum. 

I'll rip chaos out of you, there is little in you to resist.