Her face is soft, but worn to bone
From years of salt and sea.
Her eyes, the hue of crystal ice,
She never can be free.
All day, she lies upon her throne,
Dreams of formless sands.
The pearls she catches in her hair
She clasps within her hands.
Her smile, cold, her teeth, pale white,
A soul of liquid steel.
The freezing waves, the sunlight’s warmth,
Her heart would never feel.
And though she waits for time to end,
She swims beneath the moon.
With crimson tears and lost regrets,
She sings the Clair de Lune.

by Alexander, 9th grade, WITS Summer Camp
(Art collage by Jupiter Designs, via Flickr)

No Responses to “The Siren”

  1. david

    wonderful rhythm and very smooth flowing style. the structure bespeaks an ease and trust of metre. i look very forward to reading more of this poet’s work.


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