The Slave

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
An oarslave aboard a slaving vessel copes with the death of his younger sister.

Submitted: April 29, 2009

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Submitted: April 29, 2009

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The following was found etched into the wooden side of the slave galley aboard the Sprayblade:
 
My paws are worn,
And my back is torn,
The lash has done this to me.
 
A familiar face,
In a hellish place,
Lost amid horrors at sea.
 
Her innocent eyes,
As blue as the skies,
Are wide with the horrors around.
 
They are brimming with tears,
And now it appears.
Her time has come to bow down.
 
So one day at sea,
That was when she,
Stopped rowing and cradled her head.
 
The lash then attacked,
Her frail little back,
And now my sister is dead.
 
My paddling has increased,
To the job of two beasts,
But my mind is not focused on that.
 
My dear little sister...
Oh God, I miss her.
My heart is the ground of combat.
 
My soul is stone dead,
My mind is stained red,
With her blood that sprayed on my face.
The waves are her grave,
She was even depraved,
Of a peaceful resting place.
 
I have no fear of hell,
I have my own little cell,
In this galley to which I am bound.
 
I have witnessed its worst,
My eyes have been cursed,
With the death and horror around.
 
She's out there somewhere...
In that watery nightmare.
In which we were both held.
 
Death is not far now,
I am starting to see how
It grins at me from the shadows and yells.
 
I don't want to hang on,
The little life I still don,
My life is now a waning moon.
 
My dear little sister...
Yes, I still miss her,
But now...I know I will be with her soon.
I love you sis.
~Irishman1494


© Copyright 2019 irishman1494. All rights reserved.

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