How dare you driftwood,
Disturb my path and view.
As if you were meant to be here,
Coming from so far in time.
This is my time, not yours!
Yet yours has long been steady, traveled and washed.
Mine is only a second in time, without incident,
Where yours clearly sounds in weathered wood from afar.
Illegal, Art – we all,
A “summons” here and ready.
Your time in court at hand,
Your sentence now, time served.
Drifting? Art we all,
Some noticeable, others unclear.
Yet on the surface some can hide it,
Others not all.
Art we “All?”
Disturbing driftwood on the tide.
Minutes here. Minutes there.
Ready for another shore and glide.