The Driftwood

The solitary piece of driftwood,
broke my stroll and my thoughts;
stripped of its bark and bleached,
it looked grotesque yet alluring;
a creation of nature’s vagaries,
or mankind’s insatiable need;
could be a part of the local flora,
or a drifter from distant lands;
wanderings and brief stopovers,
erased its identity and its roots;
mood swings of the elements,
built resilience and the will to survive;
its existence is spiced with variety,
yet mired in uncertainty and transience;
for tomorrow it may become kindling,
or part of an artist’s design;
it may even  merge with the shoreline,
or be swept-in for a new spell of roving;
its future therefore is a probability,
and fate is preordained.