Lost at Sea

My first sonnet about nightmarish sleep.

Tonight these sleepless eyelids feign to sleep.

Thy husband, corpse-like save for spate snores,

Elicits singing begot of briny deep.

So lucid dreams make I of aquatic lore.

At night the ocean breathes with whispers soft,

Which crash in rhythmic waves against my ear.

Lithe currents answer singular and oft,

Dance wayward foxtrots beneath gilded wear.

But dancing quickly fosters fighting tides.

These spiteful tempests covet Mother Moon.

Contentious zephyrs widowed many brides

and stained the trenching squall deepest maroon.

Now mountains stain my morning skies with umber,

I've never feared the ocean like in slumber.

Author's Note

This sonnet is not perfectly iambic. I do not like the use of "But."