Nobody’s normal but not everybody’s strange.
Not every peak can be picked out
when you view a mountain range.
We each have our path way
on which it is easy to stall or stray.
Often things we can’t govern
will have the final say.

All is green in my garden,
the green of leaf and grass.
Sunshine makes it look more green.
Sadly, it will pass.
Good to see it for a moment,
a glance at Eden in a glass.

World is old, the breeze tells me,
as it blows low through the trees.
Soon as it comes, it goes.
What once lay beneath my feet,
no historian knows.

We’re drained dry, we can’t cry.
No more tears could fall from our eye.
We had it rough, it was too tough.
A high wave voyage under a thunder sky.
We survived, we’re still alive.
Where do the words come from?
How do they arrive?
Where is the wreckage now?
Will I find it on the sand?
What seas will take my boat
to let me seek my true land?


2 thoughts on “Wreckage”

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