DL (14-03-50 / Debden)

The Best

At rock bottom one is drifting, a piece of jetsom amidst the wreakage,
Purposeless, adrift, collecting the weeds of ages
That strew the ocean, where one walks, sleeps and combines
Where no harvest is gathered but the thoughts of loss;
One's feelings battered and bruised, misplaced with ill-used passion
Thoughts jumping ahead of one's time; disconnected senseless pain empowering,
That shatter in forethought and reflection the hopes of a life times bower
A cast up, adrift, looking for rest,
But with each movement, the tide, washes us for what is deemed the best.

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