Rowing For Eternity
The rotting wood below my feet is stroked by the shadow of a chain
Which keeps my hands still, but busy; an agony in unison, afloat.
My mind has learned to drift and wander, many miles away
But the pain always finds a way to intrude, to pierce, to cut.
I hear the crack of the whip, and a scream, and I do not feel a thing.
Again to my silent relief, only seen in my sagging shoulders; it is someone else’s pain,
The constant clap and glide of the oars continues unabated; ‘cept one
As he shudders in a heap, the oar nudging his head; one hundred comforting him.
Our backs face our destination and only the pilot sees the course ahead
Which now waits for us as we rest; for the drum- beat has now ceased…
There is no relief in that workless moment, for our thoughts moan and cry
At the time just ahead, when we will sway and pull and scream
Silently.
But with a roar, the sky shouts and weeps for us, and bolts shoot
Down and silently, missing us against our pleas and prayers.
We do not want to die, but the life we have is no alternative.
For we are dying
Slowly.
The whip cracks, a man weeps, and we all
Shiver.
Copyright © Stuart Ackerman | Year Posted 2015
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