My mind drifts with this rotted piece of wood,
with the plastic pop bottles in the swirls of bluish sea,
the ocean floor littered with soils of man.
All death must go somewhere,
the dead soldiers of sex,
thrown down the toilet and washed away,
the dead debry of the youth,
failing to find somewhere else to go,
landing on the sandy beachs.
The fallen warriors of man made torture,
fallen into sandy grasps,
it all must come to an end.
Plastic and tin corpses,
becoming land-mines in this mess of sand.
"Everything in the world,
seems to drift towards the sea,
and usually ends up,
on the beach somewhere".
Somewhere a where
for a who with no name.
Rotting and decaying in the salty crevices.
Floating into eternity,
with a reminiscence of the sand bound land at hand.
We are the fallen.
A contest entry
- Seascape Series: Driftwood by Nicolette.
450 points, ended July 4, 2007, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Going through the entries again, I see that this poem has 143 words where the maximum was 70
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Yes, "we are the fallen" if we continue to spoil our natural resources with plastic and debris. I wish more people would allow their minds to drift with these thoughts. A very thought-provoking piece of writing, a wake-up call to the world.
Thank you for posting it in my contest.
~ Nicolette
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Wow, well done. Amazing. I'm at a loss for a constructive comment here, so I'm going to shut up now *laughs*
TwT
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