Beyond me, there’s no life in sight.

It’s not until night that I glow white,

reflecting the ever-bright moonlight

off the surface of the sea,

so those who pass can clearly see,

and remember that they must avoid me,

because all they’re able to perceive

is what lies above the surface.

A cold, hard rock that serves no purpose.

The rest of me remains submerged,

only seen by submarines

and those who dive to find my means.

What lies beneath remains unseen,

a useless, worthless burdening

that only weighs me down enough

to barely keep my head afloat.

Each passing boat knows if we touch,

they’ll sink just like the Titanic sunk

to the depths of the Atlantic, stuck,

forever a disservice.

While I am left here on the surface,

crumbling, damaged, helpless, weakened

from the lethal collision that would have finally brought me recognition.

But at least I have the sun

to brighten up my dullest days.

The sun that melts away my icy layers as I decay.

Still, I’d never wish this lonely life to last forever anyway,

so I guess that maybe some would say 

the sun is doing me a favor.

Yet, it is nothing like a neighbor.

The same goes for the clouds

that drift about this open space.

They’re too high in the busy sky,

too far away to hear my cry.

The most that they can do is spy

while I try and try and try and try

to reach out with a gracious smile.

Instead, they smile at each other.

I watch them float along together.

I can’t quite keep up with their pace.

The water is denser than the space. 

And for me, the winds have no bias.

I’ve drifted too far from land for flight.

No bird could survive the trip, despite

the blessing of its wings

and the freedom that they bring. 

Yet, even if one bird somehow

came to land upon my shoulder,

loneliness would kill that bird

before the cold or hunger ever could. 

The piercing isolation should

compress its heart and lungs to dust.

Left to the careless wind to disperse

the particles throughout the empty air.

Planes fly by, but they are rare.

I can always trace the pilot’s glare.

It casts past me like nothing’s there.

His focus lies on what’s ahead,

like a train bound for its final station.

See, me, I’ve got no destination.

Rather, I float aimlessly along,

with no set path or map to follow.

Not even a simple song

that I can hum or play out loud

to drown out the blaring sound 

of thoughts echoing in my head. 

Thoughts that hope maybe someday

the winds could find the grace

to deliver me to a familiar face.

I know I’m not the only iceberg

floating around in this open space,

stuck with dreams that I can’t chase.

If not fame or wealth or glory,

maybe just a sunken ship to tell my story.