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