The Refining.

Like a piece of driftwood, washed up on the sand, scorched in the summer sun, is the battle weary man.

Beside the rotting seaweed, amid the twigs and leaves, the shipwrecked man bent over, on his knees he pleads.

For the carefree days again.

He wants to look inside himself to find the courage within — His strength is spent, he knows that now.

Where does he begin?

Along the stormy coastline, being tossed to and fro. You see the broken man now, He’s learning to let go.

Of the things that just don’t matter, the things that do not last. His mind is at rest, He’s making peace with his past.

See along the breakwater, walks an upright man. He’s found a safe harbour where no sediment collects. With the seagulls overhead, alongside the buds bursting.

The peaceful man rejoices, no longer thirsting.

Like a piece of driftwood, washed up on the sand, soaking in the summer sun.

The season’s have refined the man.

Photo & Poem copyright Nelsa Simmonds.

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    Nelsa Clark Simmonds

    Written by

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