Custom of the Sea

Hi there

It feels like it's been a while. University demanded a lot more of my attention over the last few weeks, so my personal work flow took a hit. I also decided working on 5 odd personal pieces at once would be a good idea, so I've spent the last couple of weeks sat on a number of unfinished pieces. This was the first complete work to emerge, and I'm very pleased with it - the next part of the collection I've decided to coin Deeper Still. I have other instalments in varying stages of completion, and have another unique short story about half way finished that I'm about to return to in force. The next part of What the Sands Hide is also nearing completion, so please look out for that.

Thank you, and enjoy.

~ Liam

They sit alone

(a ritual of three)

Dream of whiskey and home

(a dance of skin and weak belief)

Talking of family

(older voices are speaking)

And whether they’ll ever know.

(this is where we should be)

The calm rose

(a deep intent)

Shattered through wooden bones

(persuaded us from our wooden home)

Supping from the sea

(buoyed on a dark face)

In places no one dare roam.

(pushed starving whispers to our souls)

His eyes were closed

(the lots eroded our patience)

He never spoke, never rose

(his torpor was only convenience)

They could ask for his forgiveness

(if he woke we would still drink)

Three days after he was gone.

(as he bled in this timber garden)

He turned away

(lips drip from phantom taste)

Their last supper brought him shame

(nothing left nothing to waste)

Clasped his hands in desperate prayer

(grace before the feast)

As cruel instincts forced their fate

(the rise of stone the fall of blade)

Their hunger, sate

(at the bottom of the body)

Stomachs full on cold regret

(there is a bottomless pit)

The burden of carrying on

(and where the divine is far older)

A life not yours to concede

(we can finally fill it)

It won’t be enough

(it will never be enough)

A sketch of the Mignonette by Captain Tom Dudley