I see a huge wave of sadness
building up on the horizon,
I’m a tiny assemblage
drifting along a gentle stream in the sea,--
some pieces of junk and a bit of driftwood;
a chance assemblage by circumstantial winds,
Then a massive wave comes crashing
and tosses me ashore.
Now I’m more fragmented,--
Pieces of junk here;
bits of driftwood there,
My sense of identity further broken,
With pain and jealousy,
my shattered pieces gloat over
the peaceful happy world over there,
Little do I realize that
only a fragment sees the mirage of perfection.
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