Scaled Convulsion

I let out the line.

We tear through the surf, such a blissful rush,

We laugh and we joke, shivering content.

Jerk of the line, I have you now tiger,

Reeling you in with such malicious glee.

I wind in the line.

The rope cuts my hands, I'm hungry for blood,

The salt stings my eyes, foreign from the sea.

I see you so streamlined, beneath the waves;

I foam at the mouth, the surge of the swell.

I hoist you aboard.

I clutch you greedily, rip out the hook,

The blood from your lip caresses my skin.

Your scales stain my hands, the guilty butcher;

Who has stolen you from your serene swim.

I throw you aside.

Struggle. The frenzy as you gulp for air,

Unnecessary convulsion for sport.

Congratulatory slaps on the back,

I watch you until your eyes are left dull.

I despise myself.

The adrenaline has faded, vanished;

All that is left is this innocent corpse.

Your blue-green stripes are no longer vibrant,

Lying a trophy on the wooden deck.

I mourn you, mackerel.

Beauty drained from your body, oozed away;

All that remains is a heap of dead scales.

I'm sorry! I weep, no longer alive,

Bled you dry to feel your blood in my veins.

I let out the line.

Reviews

[KurKota]

This is fabulous ! The structure, the first statement, the episode, the repeated yet different meaning within the last line ! This is just an awesome read ! Honestly, I have been reading poetry on here for a couple months now, and I have to say...this is the first time, and I include my own writing within this, that I feel I was reading and looking at a truly complete piece of work ! This is an example of what fine poetry structure should be like in my humble opinion ! This is only the second 100 that I feel warranted in adding !