Post by darkaus on Nov 6, 2007 20:05:36 GMT -8
Author's note: I own nothing. Now that we're clear on that, this was not meant to be a fic, but a poem. However it ran away with me and became a fic about the poem. This is my take on what the lyrics could be to Davy Jones' locket. The Italics are the locket playing, and the Bold is the organ playing. I will admit to being a POTC fan. heh.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The sea was calm that night, but a storm was coming closer. The drizzle that preceded it landed softly on the Flying Dutchman's deck. It dripped slowly off waterlogged planks, ran down the backs of the crew.
The mood was hard to read, as the ship was her captains mirror. Her soft creaking could lull the foolish into believing the devil of the seas was at peace.
But that was not so. Too still he stood, looking out across equally still waters. His eyes and ears were not to his men. His breaths seemed strangely heavy, thick, the fierce eyes were half lidded. His beard moved only slightly as the tips curled.
His knuckles, those that were still recognizable, were white from strain as they gripped the wood. The more experienced of the crew knew they were in for a less than peaceful evening.
There would be little shouting and less gambling, almost a certain reprieve from the whip if all were vigilant in their tasks. Soon, none would be able to hear themselves over the organ in the Captains quarters; routine would rule the night.
Maccus had expected this night, had been expecting it for about a week now. Ten years had passed, tomorrow was the day his captain could go ashore. They were no-where near land of any sort, an that always boded poorly. It was bad if they were, it was worse if they were not. It would be a long night.
Rain continued to fall.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
...The music box was tarnished now.
There was a dent in its side, just below the clasp that remained from a fall.
How it was still able to play at all was a mystery, the saltwater should have corroded the sensitive gears years ago. It looked so small in the monstrous claw.
That claw was strangely gentle as it handled the open locket, the breaths of its owner hitched as a familiar melody floated about the room.
When you feel the wind on-your-face...
Those are kiss-es I blow...
When the spray caress-es your cheeks,
Think of me; I'll know.
Love my love, thy love is the sea,
I'll ever bear you well...
Never fear the storm or the swell,
I am your senetel...
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The storm was upon them. Thunder boomed, flashes of lightning lit the heavens in sporadic bursts. The sea and all within it moaned and roared. Bellowing to each other was a necessity as cannons were secured and sails lowered. The storm was not the only challenge communication faced, she herself was almost overwhelmed by the organs powerful notes; perhaps the storm was ruled by the organ. It competed with it, filling the skies as the music filled the sea.
One could be sure the Captain did not hear the storm. The Captain probably did not realize it was upon them. With his eyes closed, and his teeth bared in a savageness seen on wounded men; dying men, he played on.
Ocean spray on dying eyes,
The orbs reflect mortal fears...
Lost and gone are my world-ly joys
And shed are my last tears...
Once I loved the sea herself,
Believed that she loved me...
Oh such a love can but break-a-man,
Ye can trust that from me.
Deep inside it pulls me still,
I writhe within her grasp...
Dying more at each mo-ments end,
Laughing with each gasp...
How can one who has no heart...
Feel the pain I feel..?
The numbness only in-bitters me,
And even calm, I reel...
Best ac-cept my offer now,
Serve or greet your end...
Death can be a blessing as well,
Do you fear death my friend?
Panting, shaking, the fearsome figure collapsed forward onto the keys. A terrible discord resonated across the calming seas. Sharp, brutal, deafening. Many heads turned to the cabin door. The wiser knew that they would not see the Sea Devil again tonight.
Bootstrap slacked his grip on the rope, closed his eyes, just for a moment. Damned he was, damned they all were, but not incapable of pity. It could cost him everything should the captain discover he harbored such thoughts. The captain was a heartless man. Bootstrap would never speak of it. Eighty seven years yet to go, eighty seven more until his debt was paid. Would his captain still play this way, once he was gone?
The storm was moving off. Distant rumbles of thunder shook the deck beneath their feet...
Would those notes still ring across Caribbean waters when none of the crew remained to hear them?
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The small music box continued to whir out its song. Haunting and soft. Its tarnished lid reflected its owners stormy eyes. It soothed, it coaxed, it tore him apart. He felt without feeling as he weakened, as the tune lulled him into the dreamless abyss. Far away, locked from warmth and light, his heart moaned her name.
The tinkling song played on...
..Sleep my love, I'm holding you now,
I'll whisper to your heart...
Of love, and bliss, and shimmering waves,
We've never been apart...
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The sea was calm that night, but a storm was coming closer. The drizzle that preceded it landed softly on the Flying Dutchman's deck. It dripped slowly off waterlogged planks, ran down the backs of the crew.
The mood was hard to read, as the ship was her captains mirror. Her soft creaking could lull the foolish into believing the devil of the seas was at peace.
But that was not so. Too still he stood, looking out across equally still waters. His eyes and ears were not to his men. His breaths seemed strangely heavy, thick, the fierce eyes were half lidded. His beard moved only slightly as the tips curled.
His knuckles, those that were still recognizable, were white from strain as they gripped the wood. The more experienced of the crew knew they were in for a less than peaceful evening.
There would be little shouting and less gambling, almost a certain reprieve from the whip if all were vigilant in their tasks. Soon, none would be able to hear themselves over the organ in the Captains quarters; routine would rule the night.
Maccus had expected this night, had been expecting it for about a week now. Ten years had passed, tomorrow was the day his captain could go ashore. They were no-where near land of any sort, an that always boded poorly. It was bad if they were, it was worse if they were not. It would be a long night.
Rain continued to fall.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
...The music box was tarnished now.
There was a dent in its side, just below the clasp that remained from a fall.
How it was still able to play at all was a mystery, the saltwater should have corroded the sensitive gears years ago. It looked so small in the monstrous claw.
That claw was strangely gentle as it handled the open locket, the breaths of its owner hitched as a familiar melody floated about the room.
When you feel the wind on-your-face...
Those are kiss-es I blow...
When the spray caress-es your cheeks,
Think of me; I'll know.
Love my love, thy love is the sea,
I'll ever bear you well...
Never fear the storm or the swell,
I am your senetel...
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The storm was upon them. Thunder boomed, flashes of lightning lit the heavens in sporadic bursts. The sea and all within it moaned and roared. Bellowing to each other was a necessity as cannons were secured and sails lowered. The storm was not the only challenge communication faced, she herself was almost overwhelmed by the organs powerful notes; perhaps the storm was ruled by the organ. It competed with it, filling the skies as the music filled the sea.
One could be sure the Captain did not hear the storm. The Captain probably did not realize it was upon them. With his eyes closed, and his teeth bared in a savageness seen on wounded men; dying men, he played on.
Ocean spray on dying eyes,
The orbs reflect mortal fears...
Lost and gone are my world-ly joys
And shed are my last tears...
Once I loved the sea herself,
Believed that she loved me...
Oh such a love can but break-a-man,
Ye can trust that from me.
Deep inside it pulls me still,
I writhe within her grasp...
Dying more at each mo-ments end,
Laughing with each gasp...
How can one who has no heart...
Feel the pain I feel..?
The numbness only in-bitters me,
And even calm, I reel...
Best ac-cept my offer now,
Serve or greet your end...
Death can be a blessing as well,
Do you fear death my friend?
Panting, shaking, the fearsome figure collapsed forward onto the keys. A terrible discord resonated across the calming seas. Sharp, brutal, deafening. Many heads turned to the cabin door. The wiser knew that they would not see the Sea Devil again tonight.
Bootstrap slacked his grip on the rope, closed his eyes, just for a moment. Damned he was, damned they all were, but not incapable of pity. It could cost him everything should the captain discover he harbored such thoughts. The captain was a heartless man. Bootstrap would never speak of it. Eighty seven years yet to go, eighty seven more until his debt was paid. Would his captain still play this way, once he was gone?
The storm was moving off. Distant rumbles of thunder shook the deck beneath their feet...
Would those notes still ring across Caribbean waters when none of the crew remained to hear them?
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The small music box continued to whir out its song. Haunting and soft. Its tarnished lid reflected its owners stormy eyes. It soothed, it coaxed, it tore him apart. He felt without feeling as he weakened, as the tune lulled him into the dreamless abyss. Far away, locked from warmth and light, his heart moaned her name.
The tinkling song played on...
..Sleep my love, I'm holding you now,
I'll whisper to your heart...
Of love, and bliss, and shimmering waves,
We've never been apart...
