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Driftwood
April 16, 2009
He sits and flicks at tiny bugs that belch and spit and fly all away.
He knows where his mind is at any given time but his shoes are now all gone away.
His arms can wilt and whisper and that’s it,
His eyes just watch the sun set and set.
He sits there, between the wood and the air, and holds rocks in his whispery hands
and waits for his turn to jump.
If I were he I would have breathed deep at the salty sea smell.
And those rocks i would throw to the monsters below the glass of the cool quiet bay.
And then i would lay on the silvery waves instead of existing to wait,
wait on a dock of an endless loch and watch all my friends drift away...
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This article has 7 comments.
a.little.bit.less said...
on Aug. 28 2009 at 10:41 am
nice. i like the 'whispery hands' part
wombatz-rule GOLD said...
on Jul. 25 2009 at 5:04 pm
Wow...this poem is extremely good, delivering a message behind it as well. You are a true writer.
TheCinders PLATINUM said...
on Jul. 1 2009 at 11:59 pm
I like how you show both the flaws in you and the other person in the poem while still contrasting them. Well done!
-Bria
-Bria
DefinitlyNOTmikeWeiler said...
on May. 8 2009 at 1:53 am
One of my favorites!
Dual said...
on May. 7 2009 at 2:53 pm
Moved me man!
poetman said...
on May. 6 2009 at 11:48 am
This is a very moving poem. Much better to enjoy what you can instead of giving up.
