Harbour of secrets

The sea is to poets a melody,
to authors, a tempestuous journey.
To me, she's a crude harbour of secrets
reveals herself but as Death’s prophet,
whom I met a morning, scores of years ago.
The temptress in blue lured me from the cove.
Her skin shone like ice, or crystals, in light;
with her cool embrace, she drew me in tight.
Thence her waves of might she shattered on me,
devoured my cry, excised my sanity.
Out of sight the shore drifted.
I blindly groped for a promise
of survival, 'till all hopes I severed,
and all that was left in me soon after.
She seized my throat, and flooded my senses
with fear, though not of chest tight with clutches
but of depths loaded with fetters that bound,
dragged me to a place where evil may sprout;
Fear of gushing through life's warm fingertip,
Discovered but by those that scavenged the deep.