Poem of the Month: Wreckage


Bereft of anchors, I am unsure of floating or falling.

I wait for a sign, some change in the light

But all is stillness.

In the wake of the storm,

I survey the damage

Assessing what I find.

Pieces of myself are strewn about,

Some shredded beyond repair,

Others merely marred.

I wonder if it’s worth the effort.

If there is a point to “starting over.”

How can anything good come from this?

Unaware of my musings,

The sun rises, the birds sing

and I bend, claiming a remnant.

AC 2011


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