Neon Currents

If the deep-sea's timorous trenches
Wish their sweetly guarded secrets
To be captured by a mainstream film–
And not discreetly, to those rhapsodic souls
Hunting rapture in its naked form–

What sad depictions would be witnessed
Of the harrowing shadow realms below
By restrictions of the camera lens
And the narrowing feeling of digital tricks!
Instead– averting cinematic limitations,
Through fresh, frightening unleashings;
Words spill, diverting from poets' quills
Like slick lightning– its favored method
Of thought transmission: chilling, subtle,
And yet, retaining its secret treasures:
Mythic organisms, eerie, gaseous vents,
Secrets remaining– lurking further within.
Those of fluent skill in the enterprise of simply
Letting regions unknown conjure themselves
(In ways congruent to the will of the deep) know
Of its legions of enchanted, teeming mists,
Pluming effervescent bubble chimneys,
Pressure gradients seismically billowing,
Tugging fluorescent deep-sea critters to and fro,
Spectral radiance of scintillating coral shelves,
Foreign funnels of unclassifiable matter
Pressing bizarre inertias upon the skull,
Paving tunnels through vents and catacombs,
Rising afar in methane gusts, allowing
Supreme delights to cross artifact-studded
Valleys, prowling quite subconsciously, as
Hidden insights erupt in prismatic crypts;
A world howling in vast astonishment.
Indeed, akin to any other over-budgeted sham,
The filmed edition of these fluxile depths
Would not begin to even hint at their enigma–
Oral traditions neither– but verse and verse
Alone describes the methods of deep-sea
Madness; granted, an agile mind absorbs
Warping diatribes of the sunken nether,
Visions planted methodically in dreams,
Banished hymnals of the earth undulating forth
From voids, abyssal reaches, and neon currents.