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Sailing alone and days removed from land,
The sun and stars and sky become my land.
We walk along the beach, I with my love,
Holding each other’s hands like sea and land.
The seagull floats motionless as a cloud—
When wind is high, she has no need to land.
Continents float on molten rock like bread—
We walk on bamboo rafts we call dry land.
Everything that is flows to the sea:
Rivers, melting glaciers, crumbling land.
Garbage, too, cascades into the sea,
Gathered into a swirling, plastic land.
As polar melt engulfs our shores and homes,
Great plastic islands may become our land.
A thousand years from now an alien race
Discovers Earth and has no place to land.
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© 2012 Douglas J. Westberg. All Rights Reserved.  Please share this on Gather.com, and elsewhere on the web by means of a link back to this page, but please do not copy.  Doug's latest book is The Depressed Guy's Book of Wisdom from Chipmunka Publishing.
Doug's Gather Group is Depression and Creativity, devoted to creative writing about depression and related illnesses, and creative writing as therapy. Â Please consider joining. Â You can read more of Doug's posts there, or here.
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Comments: 30
Now featured at The Surreal Circus.
Extremely well done, Doug.
The observation made of your poem, Doug, concerns a trouble so slight, however, it is negligible.
Thank you for submitting to: Not Gathering Dust!
she's the ecologist on the team... :)
Thank you submitting to Gathers Luminous Writers and Artists. Now featured.
Always able to get that political thread in there.
You’ve taken the challenge with success. Now appearing on the pages of Mindful Poetry.