Look up to the sky,
That dusty cloud suspended in the air is me.
Nature dictates that I roam free
There is no course that is set for me,
I go where the wind blows.
At the foot of the beach exists a grain of sand
That swirls and twirls at the waves demand,
That, is also me.
I have no home,
I belong to no shore.
I settle where the waves place me.
Do you see that rugged headland that juts out at sea?
That, once again, is me.
I am a victim of the wave’s appetite.
I have no power,
I have no voice,
I simply let it break me.
I am the tin man from the wizard of oz,
Rusted are my joints and heavy are my feet,
Tap on my chest.
There’s a hallowed sound that resonates throughout my body,
And an empty space for where my heart use to be.
There is a long forgotten novel at the back of my bookcase,
The cover has paled, been tainted,
touched and gazed upon by curious eyes,
But the pages remain unturned,
Its contents unexplored.
And darlings, that novel is me.