I am driftwood

I float along the stream of life

Gentle, idyllic

I do not, I cannot go against the flow

I am lodged in obstacles

And until the upheaval of life's waters

I am stuck there

My view is limited

Often, I am blind

Maybe a poet will see me

Someone not in the waters

Someone who sees the entire picture

Someone on a path of dirt

And maybe for a moment, I will hold their interest

Maybe I will be a page in their book

Ink shaped into words, preserving me

I will be forgotten, of course

But someday, as the wind flips the pages

Maybe my story might come to light

And just for a moment

I could be part of the tree I fell from

And then the winds can carry me away

Poet, look at me

Do you see yourself?