Washed ashore,
It lay bare,
The driftwood.
Flowing out from
The gushes of insanity.
It sought solace,
In birds that sang
Of life with grace.
The driftwood,
It didn't want to be seen
But feathers find their melody.
In the beauty of a wreck,
The driftwood.
It lets the wet wild grass in,
To twirl hopes,
Into its hollows.
