A Dead Man's Boat
A dead man’s boat
rowed itself from isle to isle,
dragging its dead man in its wake,
partially submerged, their tether tenuous,
yet somehow never broken.
Past The Isle Of Reeds,
where the slaves had been freed
from the crack of their master’s whip,
and their master, with great resentment,
would be exorcised of the malice
that he had so slavishly curated.
To The Isle Of Defeat
where it was fortunate to escape
the ruthless jagged rocks,
its dead man did not escape,
but in death was spared the agony
of the broken bones and lacerations.
Painfully close to The Isle Of Cleansing,
adorned by sands and rocks made new,
freshly crafted for their arrival
just moments before their arrival,
but the dead man’s boat
would not surrender its dead man.
To The Isle Of The Precipice
where gulls and albatross
sullied the ancient cliffs,
the boat stared up at them
but gave no thought to climbing them,
its dead man may have fallen from them,
perhaps in a better life.
The dead man’s boat
left the isles
and returned to open waters,
it’s dead man dragged in its wake,
together to sink in time.
27th March 2019
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