Driftwood
Used and discarded thought shadows lurk
at every sunrise as if each were renewed.
A touch from the fading past, in a moment
as i look at the wet pebbles, ever decreasing.
Welcoming the receding tide, a caressing breeze
on which floats, the busy two tone oyster catcher.
On that breeze voice’s travel, voice's calling out
over the relentless, out going, in coming waves.
Are we all but driftwood ? Leaving to return
when the gorse flower is yellow in rare sunlight.
Maybe rudderless, in a firm belief and trust,
of our hearts compass, and its choice is free.
Be elusive ! Leave no trace, be faceless in
milling throngs and crowds, not out of place.
Perhaps a living phantom, amongst many,
yet never careless in your constant carefree.
Blend into the background, be seamless.
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