A Fisherman's Soul
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a d
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g headstone.
A long lost tomb was hidden by muddy olive ferns, as it thirsted for life beyond decomposition. This grave tries to reveal its lineage, but nights of sorrowful slumber for over one hundred and fifty years says otherwise…
He lays inside a casket concealed; cold and frosted from life’s hardships. Once a fisherman, now a forgotten soul. His headstone was decaying for many reasons. It had weathered many storms and felt the pain of regret as the man inside had faltered. The one thing that remains a mystery is how does a dying headstone become covered with such bracken greenery? The only answer found is that no one has ever cared to visit him and clean up his grave out of love and respect.
Passerby’s tarry frequently to visit their loved ones with floral bouquets and proud country flags representing who they were. His tomb is masked and rotting due to the adversities he has encountered for many a year. He needed the warmth of a family, but he gave that up too soon. He deserved much better than the guilt he carried for abandoning his only child at birth. You see, a hard working man at sea has no room for a child. He was a seaman by trade yet sought no navigation in his life. A woman he met for a night was never in his plans and neither was a child.
Trading his blood for the open water seemed the right thing to do. Years went by and he longed for his child. He became lost and alone and cried many nights for the child that he so easily forgot at birth. He searched and soon found out his one and only baby died at only 6 weeks old. He had died from scurvy. Back then, scurvy was very contagious and was hard to find a cure. This was all his fault. A young life abandoned only to find death as his fate.
Tears drift and crawl down the face of a skeleton who too had died from the same disease his child died from. Life lost and never found. The overshadowed tomb never saw the light of day again. The moss that grew out of control for over one hundred and fifty years kept growing, as did the man’s heartbreak. Skeletons too can feel loss. His brittle bones decayed worse the more he suffered in silence. The more silence he encountered the more anguish he endured.
~Loss can serve as a shroud for a damaged fisherman's soul, and mossy vines can serve as camouflage for his decaying headstone~
Camouflage Me A Poem - Poetry Contest
Sponsor, Broken Wings
Date Written: August 4, 2016
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2016
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