Here is a poem I recently wrote that I wanted to share with you.  


I find myself sitting,

thinking about this life,

my purpose,

my hopes, goals, dreams.

Are they really mine?

Am I really unique?

Floating aimlessly like driftwood on a sea of intellects,

bobbing about with the turning of the tides.

How can I anchor without a seabed, a rock,

a concrete understanding of who I am?

I continue where the current moves me.

What defines me?

A label?

The color of my skin, my nationality, language, heritage?

These things are happenstance,

a figment of society,

a chance of genetics.

My journey seems bright,

but why am I fishing in the blackness of the cove?

There’s more to me than what is seen,

my surface thin, permeable, as delicate as the petals of an aging flower.

As certain as the sun rises and falls,

as the world turns and the waters dance with the power of the moon,

I am more than anyone knows.

Even me.

Thank you for reading.



63 thoughts on “Driftwood

  1. Thanks for sharing… the beginning reminded me of how all the wordpress blogs are bobbing up and down in the internets’ sea of intellect….
    You’re brave for sharing your poems…. I’ve chosen not to because I don’t want anyone stealing them… ugh. I guess that’s just me. I totally enjoyed reading your post, though.

  2. Very nicely written, except I must protest the “aging” flower! Your skin is like porcelain and you are quite young and the bud of the flower is also new… Just saying and hope you take this as more of a compliment than a concern! Take care, Robin

  3. This is great 🙂 I really like it… I’ve always liked pondering the why’s and wherefore’s of life… should have taken philosophy at college (except I couldn’t see a career in it LOL)

    PS, I would have clicked the Like button but WordPress is playing silly buggers again tonight and it’s not appearing…

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