A piece of driftwood floating aimlessly and helplessly,
Symbolizing an echo of repetition,
Undeniably a fear shared by all.
Bobbing in the water desperately, drowning ever so slowly.
Knowing to stand alone, will leave you to fall.

Some may say it’s what lurks in the shadows,
Shadows of the day, of the night, and of your mind.
Some claim it to be demons of deception.
Name it what you will, search through endless hollows.
Till eventually it doesn’t matter what you find.

For it wasn’t until the driftwood reached the shore,
Where it forever found a place to rest.
Acknowledged for the scars that had been accumulated,
It was appreciated once more.
The end of the path, that is where you’re found at best.

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