If not left dead, left strengthened,
but for the first time, I’m starting to think
this may not be the kind of story
where I make it out alive.

The dark, churning depths sound too merciless;
the wriggling worms smell too close.

I’m inching nearer to the grave,
though I’ve still got so far to go-
it’s 20,000 leagues below,
but you would be surprised how fast we sink.

With every thrash, I lose more blood;
Water fills my lungs at cries for help- Do
you understand my options?

Let me not assume that I
will be one of the few sailors
that can tell the tale of being
rescued by a dolphin.

Though I know one fisherman
who’s even more agile in these waves
than any dolphin who’s saved the day,
who knows the stormy sea more intimately-

he, alien to it,
yet by whom it was created
was entirely swallowed by it! Willingly,
yea, obediently.
And so was deemed worthy

to be spit back out, not by merciless sea,
but by ocean’s, earth’s, everything’s,
mighty King of Mercy,

who has pity on those on whom the sea has none,
and as my fisherman rises up, I know
I’ll be lifted out too,

in whatever way, and
no matter how soon.

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