Mop


Upon this death I see before me,
Four stood soldiers waiting patiently.
Beneath my feet I guess there could be,
An empty space of contemplation.
I built this place for only my eyes to see.
I come here occasionally when I need a vacation.


I am bound to watch the day pass.
I plead ignorance with such sincerity.
Because I stole a broach, apparently, in the past,
I am tied to the mast, by the quarter mast.
Nobody believes in me and as the sun burns my eyes,
I cannot close them for they hold no water inside.
The lid upon my soul is dry,
But I am yet to truly sink into the depths of my subconscious.
I can still hear them talking all their meaningless phrases,
Sounding like a thousand drunken babies,
As I honorably sink deeper into the abyss.


Communication breakdown, silence of the ages,
And all is but a single drop in the ocean; gone are all the praises.
This life of mine hangs in the balance and from the rafters.
I would not jest simply for the amusement of laughter.
With a face of iron, I am all done a-lying.
Stoically I still proclaim to tell the truth from upon high,
For soon I will be dying.


And then I spot the villainous rake,
And all of his duplicitous, surreptitious plots,
That wrap around their feeble minds,
Like the coil of a snake’s tail; their will is soon gone.
So they follow him into the darkness so blind;
Tongue tastes like dust from the burning sunshine.
It intoxicates all the other ship mates into seeing guilty.
Through all their mistakes they have misjudged me.


I am not, nor have I ever been, an infallible being,
But I was never ever seen to steal anything.
I never truly took, because I never truly looked, deep into the chest.
They ripped out my heart in search of plunder through contempt.
Now I stand here lost and all alone;
Shattered through not only a lack of food, but my lost home,
Has been taken from me, by those who would lie.
Why try to enlighten those who will not hear my side?


If I ever speak of this tale again,
Then you should know, I know your face, for it caused me this pain,
And on the day when we come to rest upon the shore,
Or even if we sink, slowly to the ocean floor;
I will remember all you took from me and I will rise with rage.


My silver piece, my one of eight,
They stole it from me and tossed it into the silver plate.
The trust of my shipmates broken this day,
When the end truly comes I will rise again.
I will point a solitary finger in only your direction,
And you will have to look away to hide your guilty expression;
But I never mentioned, just left them guessing.
We are all dead men walking, this death is a blessing.


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.