Ocean Mist

I wouldn’t worry, that rose is not for me. I’ve already had my roses;
they wilted aeons ago, yet I’m still the same. As I always have been and always will be.

I am the dangerous one, the beautiful one, and the unpredictable one; with the deepest depths and the saltiest breath. My hair, white, ever growing, fading, and shifting, sometimes not even there. My body- the deepest translucent blues, fading as light penetrates through me. My children, so numerous, I’ve seen them die, killed them, cared for them, and shaped them over time.

The one child, whom I do despise, my nephew, claims to own my brother, Land, and I. He does accept that I cannot be owned, the same with my brother, and is blind to the fact that I sit through time, wanting to prove my ever reigning might. The child thinks he has conquered me, with his petty boats, and his ignorance. He poisons me and rapes me, polluting my song, killing his siblings. A spoilt baby prince, unable to witness his mortality in the world’s progression, let alone his worthlessness.

Do not weep, that rose was not for me- the spirit of the ages, a constant dancer, weeper of the sweetest songs, and an eternal soul.  Come slumber, if you will within the ebb and flow of my breath, lapping at my brother’s toes. Sail on the distant horizons, keeping me company as I call your name faintly, infinity within reach.

Child, can you guess my name?

O ωκεανός. Oкеан. Valtameri. 'r aig. Der Ozean.