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No Destination

It is part of a river that’s flicking and flowing,
Like the clouds dreamily drifting and going,
Hidden meanings bleached by salt, born with a tide,
No hope of destinations, a forever feeling ride.
A world is awaiting, oceans of unknown blue,
Sinks in old and withered and comes out neatly new,
Like a meaningful memory it floats in my mind,
It’s the key to suspicious secrets no one can find,
They are mystic magicians, no warning, no knowing,
Like the bit of my heart that’s shining and glowing.
Bang! Crash! Raging seas crying, wailing, helpless driftwood,
Calm seas, breathtaking sunsets, smiling, resting, sleeping driftwood,
No destination for driftwood . . .

by Joanna Wolf (10)
Plymouth


Competition - Poetry Detectives

Copyright remains with the author.