String

A weapon of a lost monster,
A ruthless king,
That rules over the seas
Scavenging for meat.

Its edges serrated,
Like stinging sand on bare feet,
At its summit, it is as acute,
As a sickle.

Its as white as a moonlit sail,
The smell of the sea floods my senses,
It is a string of protection and strength,
Running fiercely around my neck.