Away from the

human world,

I sit here on the sand


and look out at the quiet water.


This beach is far

from home.

No one built this beach.


Trees stretched out horizontally, 

shaped by the wind and

their black arms reach out,

creating outlines against the pale blue sky.

They cling onto the cliff,

perilously close to

falling into the North sea

who shall take their bodies

for its own.


Driftwood tells the story of their ancestors.

The fallen and the taken

lay stretched out at the water’s edge.

The wood is grey,

washed over by a thousand waves.

The tide pulls at their bodies

eventually reuniting them with its cold embrace.

The cycle continues.


I look down to find


buried in the sand.

A reminder that i am not


on this beach.

And people and their things

will follow me.

Like the driftwood follows the trees.