I am nothing But a bit of drift wood...

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

I am nothing

But a bit of drift wood.

That in valleys and forests,

Once grew.

I am nothing

But a bit of drift wood.

Knocked about,

Through deserts, jungles, sea waters,

In a constant battle

For eventual good.

photo & poem © Jesús Montero

No bars has your prison...

photo (Kensington palace, London) & poem © Jesús Montero

No bars has your prison.

No gates. 

No chains. 

No windows.

No stars has your nightfall.

No tail. 

No dust. 

No twinkle.

Nor does your smile have a reason.

No punch line. 

No root. 

No Pierrot.

Nor has your Juliette met her Romeo.

On your door, there’s no mistletoe.

Your horizon has no Cicerone.

No roadmap. 

No compass. 

No beacon.

For, no bars has your prison.

No gates. 

No chains. 

No windows.

photo (Kensington palace, London) & poem © Jesús Montero