Thursday, February 25, 2016

Like a Piece of Driftwood

I took a diversion on the beach today to observe a large piece of driftwood.  I was reminded of the photograph of a similar piece of wood I saw some time ago, and which inspired me to write a poem:

My skin is wrinkled, weathered and worn;
Parts of me have been ripped to shreds
By tremendous tossing and turning in the giant waves.
There are deep crevices, pockets, and scars
From termites and maggots and other unwanted intruders.
But I am no longer troubled by these external imperfections;
I like this place I am now.
Here I sit naked and majestic
For all to see and study--if they will--and consider their own
     line-creased foreheads
     furrowed brows
    crinkled crows feet
     age-spotted limbs!
I am not rotting away with indifference, apathy, fear, or bitterness;
I am still and steadfast on this spot,
Reciting the chapters of my life for ears that will hear and listen to its beauty,
Grateful to rest on this beach of acceptance.
And when my bark drops to the sand, one cell then another,
The tide graciously covers my extremities
And I am washed away to another place,
There I will be gathered back up,
To tell my stories again.

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