The Driftwood

If all material things
Of substance belong to land,
The piece of driftwood I spied must
Be covetous of the four
Frolicking souls on the sand.

So near and yet still far
Beckon home the tantalizing sands.
Yet unrealeased it was,
Grappling with the ocean’s
Jealous, protective hands.

What dread is that driftwood’s life.
Its heart must have come burst.
To and fro, see and saw. It could have
Been crying, for we heard
It wailing above the surf.

There it swirled amidst
The flotsam and the jetsam
Imbibing the sea: A watery hell,
Its home and prison; A lost soul
Breakers caged, disowned and damned.


Lambert.
12/01/2001

Note: This poem was written / created while on an outing with 3 very close friends in 2001 at Batu Ferinnghi in Penang.