I am like drift wood floating in the deep, blue abiss of the sea.
Nothing else is shaped quite as uniquely or querkily as me.
Having faced and felt the ragged rocks break and crumble my bones.
Having known no place that could be safe, or to be called my home.
Battered and skarred, from the dark days of fearsome storms
Sun dried and bleached blonde, Mother nature has truly shown me her scorn.
Polishing sand, abrasive winds, torrential rain, being tossed and thrown by the waves, in every which way.
This is what sculptured me, changed me slowly moulding me, each and every day.
I have floated and drifted, lost for so long in the vacuum of time.
But always through the daylight and darkness my spirit has found a way to shimmer and shine.
One day my knarly shape will be washed up and rest upon a golden, sandy shore.
Hoping to be found and loved, in a way in which, I could've never have been loved before.
Written Sept 2020
Copyright © Stephen Mayne | Year Posted 2020
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