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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