Job 41:20–33

Smoke erupts from his nostrils

like steam from a boiling pot.

He blows and fires blaze;

flames of fire stream from his mouth.

All muscle he is—sheer and seamless muscle.

To meet him is to dance with death.

Sinewy and lithe,

there’s not a soft spot in his entire body—

As tough inside as out,

rock-hard, invulnerable.

Even angels run for cover when he surfaces,

cowering before his tail-thrashing turbulence.

Javelins bounce harmlessly off his hide,

harpoons ricochet wildly.

Iron bars are so much straw to him,

bronze weapons beneath notice.

Arrows don’t even make him blink;

bullets make no more impression than raindrops.

A battle ax is nothing but a splinter of kindling;

he treats a brandished harpoon as a joke.

His belly is armor-plated, inexorable—

unstoppable as a barge.

He roils deep ocean the way you’d boil water,

he whips the sea like you’d whip an egg into batter.

With a luminous trail stretching out behind him,

you might think Ocean had grown a gray beard!

There’s nothing on this earth quite like him,

not an ounce of fear in that creature!