Driftwood - Visitor's Poem

by Tanya Amanda Loyola
(Cebu City, Philippines)


Drifting down the river

I saw a dead wood there.

Seemingly insignificant,

lifeless and so bare.



Flowing down that river

Trusting in the flow

Not knowing where it's heading,

Not knowing where to go.



My heart cries out to it

For what it used to be;

A strong and sturdy spectacle,

A marvelous old tree.



Who stood in glorious majesty

To praise God and serve men.

A tree who stood against storms

as bravely as it can.



But now I gaze with pity

upon this useless wood

afloating by the river

wondering as I stood;



How it came to be

This driftwood that I see

Flowing down the river

Bare as it can be?



The leaves, the fruits, the birds

Are but a memory

For this solitary driftwood...

I wept for this poor tree.



As it drifts along the river

A hand then pulled it out.

And the snipping, carving, stripping

Turned it inside out!



The pain was so unbearable

for the Hand tore it piece by piece

Then the Hand said He's the Artist

And the wood His masterpiece.



'Twas then it stopped its struggle

As it slowly realized

That it was more than just a driftwood

In this Great Artist's eyes.



Then I saw beyond its bareness

I saw beyond its pain

I saw from His perspective

Its life was not in vain.



So to the other driftwood

Know that it's not the end

Trust the river as it takes you

Straight to the Artist's hand.



And all these I took in quietly

Seeing more than what I used to see

As the truth came slowly, gently

That this driftwood...

Alas, is me!

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