Father Ocean.

Once, I walked like you. I had skin, I was alive.
I could cry, smile, laugh and sing.
Once, I was a human.
I admit freely, I was beautiful.
I was proud as well, too proud.
I challenged the gods, telling them my thoughts,
My thoughts, such sinful thoughts.
I, in my folly, thought that,
One as beautiful as I, must be a god myself.
Borne on the wind from the heavens,
Worshipped by the stars.

Understandably, the gods desired revenge,
They knew I was too proud.
I admit my pride, my foolishness.
They changed me, slowly though, so I could suffer,
Knowing that I was changing.
My skin became, clear, and food fell through me.
Instead of walking, I began to glide.
My throat burned with thirst, but every time I drank,
I grew bigger, and bigger.
I cried salt tears, and soon, I was salty myself.
In despair, I flung myself on the ground, and waited for death.
The death that could never come.

That night it rained, the sky became gray.
The clouds rolled like smoke from a volcano,
Like a tsunami.
Ironically, a tsunami is what I and Mother Earth plan together.
The rain fused to me, and I grew bigger.
Still I wept, and the salt spread.
I became a huge expanse of water,
I covered the land.
Strange creatures swam within me,
You may know them as fish.
They are my toys, my children.
And you, you who I called friends, you poison them.

Yes, I have no names now,
They have been changed, distorted and forgotten.
I only know what you call me, and there are many things you call me.
You sometimes call me Sea, and Ocean.
I do not regret that. They are fine names.
Anyway, I have no time to regret such things.
I am too busy crying.
Why you ask? Why waste the salt?
Well, I will tell you why.

It is, a sarcastic joke.
I thought myself so beautiful, I deserved to be a god.
Now, I am, in a way.
I am immortal, and if I stop crying, if only for a while,
My playthings, the fishes would die.
The strange world I have created would disappear.
You would too, you rely on me.
My tears have spread across the earth that you poison.
So spread my story. Tell all who will listen of my pride.
And think of yours, of the poisonous cloud that throttles the trees,
And the water. Think, and remember me.

This is why I cry,
And you are the only ones who listen to me,
Stretching my arms out, my soft fingers just pale foam.
Beseeching you, if only for my children, to stop the cloud.
Stop it now, and maybe, just maybe, the tears will become pure.
And the crusted salt would dissolve again.
Water would be safe for all to drink.
I know the cloud helps you, but my beauty helped me.
This is better, and will be better for you.
Remember, and listen. One day, the cloud might stop.
The world can be beautiful once more.