Indoors the tang of a tiny oil lamp. Outdoors
The winking signal on the waste of sea.
Indoors the sound of the wind. Outdoors the wind.
Indoors the locked heart and the lost key.
Outdoors the chill, the void, the siren. Indoors
The strong man pained to find his red blood cools,
While the blind clock grows louder, faster. Outdoors
The silent moon, the garrulous tides she rules.
Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.
Louis Macneice
jollyweez
It may sound a little weird, but that is what I feel, when I look at that photo. 
Fabulous picture at the top. Reminds me of Winslow Homer, who did a lot of sea-life. In fact, while I'm here, all your picture/photos are stunning and obviously chosen with much aforesight. Thank you for taking the time, Colin.
This poem by Macneice is tremendously somber amd solitary.
I detect a melancholy tone and the lone man is surrounded by howling winds and the fury of a strong, high sea during the blackness of night. The menace disturbs his sleeping mind.
I can really feel and see the ominous night, as can everyone else. He paints the perfect picture of lonely sadness, surrounded by wretched weather.