My Life As A Small Boat

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, can't just evaporate. That I like water is even more -nimble. Beloved by Him even more venerate.