The Oarsman
written by: James Gabriel
@James_Gabriel1
The oarsman is coming!
His body rows
in steady rhythm.
Eyes peer
with fixed appetite.
Paddles dip
the murky brine.
My memories are not my own.
I have stolen my fire
Stolen a seat at the table.
He is here to collect.
Quietus descends.
The oarsman is coming!
I did not live on the
banks of the Mississippi.
I did not fight in the
Spanish-American War.
I did not die in the
rubble of an air raid in 1941.
Disconsolate, I claw
at the earth, ripping my
nails. My eyes blurry with ache.
I can only see the shape
of my destination.
My watery coffin draws near.
The oarsman is here!
Born and raised in Los Angeles, California. James Gabriel is new to poetry. Inspired by the small moments in life that add up to who we are as people.
Latest posts by James Gabriel (see all)
- A Bountiful Harvest - October 11, 2019
- Car Fire - September 8, 2019
- Dessert Wine, by Mistake - May 17, 2019
