The water once swallowed me while out at sea

A wave chewed up my shallop and crew

Spitting out only I.

Condemning me to a barren deserted land.


Now I sleep upon the shores of this isle

The sand is my cot

And the stones my pillow

A single old tree giving me shelter.


One might think I wish

To leave this castaway Hell

Yet perhaps its all the best

For a debtor, a poor man like me.


Though vessels may pass

I extinguish all flames

Leaving no trace

Of my stirring indignity.


Water washes all around me

Yet I can only drink of the frequent rains

The tears of the world

As they erode my sandbar.


Never will I have to

Face the widows of my crew

No accusations, no hardships

It’s just easier for sure.


From the old tree, I eat bitter fruits

Nourishing myself with their resentful seed.

Tangy, fleshy and gross

An aftertaste of rot.


Never will they find me though

For that, I must rejoice

Without a ship, or a crew once ashore

They’ll cast me into binds.


It is here that I make my last stand

Here my bones will be bleached

Upon its sandy shores

Where no man can mourn me.


The isle may be lonely

But perhaps that’s for the best

Without work, pay or debt

Finally, my tired soul may rest.


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