My Life As A Small Boat Poem by Mark Heathcote

I saw my life as a small boat
pushed out of the reeds - carried
to who knows where it'd float
at first, in pure faith, it taxied

in the slow currents of childhood,
it and I drifted without questioning.
The landscape on either shore
running-fingers-along smooth plywood.

I was sure it would float forever.
But then, when, it ran aground.
Took in a few millimetres of water
I found myself anchored, fogbound.

Lost, I paddled oars frantically,
I moved into a faster stream.
I began sinking, calamitously,
believing faith, a useless, dream.

When the water grew metres high
spelt my life was now nearly over
all the shores converged to glorify,
death, not water is the real impostor.

That I like the water would mingle.
That I like matter, just can't evaporate.
That I like water is even more nimble.
Beloved by Him even more venerate.