Silver white foam floats on the sea,
piling up near a driftwood tree,
gray and old and barnacle encrusted,
my secrets to it have been entrusted.

Sitting there in the noonday sun, watching families having fun
throwing frisbees and *******,
I sit, feet dangling and bare my soul.

Waves run in and wash my secrets out,
that old gray tree never nags or shouts,
Everyday, fall to the spring
new mornings and secrets I bring.

It passes no judgement no matter the tide,
straddling it the storm of life I ride,
then another soul I met,
take her to the beach, to get all wet.

Played all day into the night,
as the temperature falls, I think I might,
histories and secrets up in smoke,
barnacle limbs burned as I broke.

A driftwood no longer remains,
with her I will share my love and pain,
watching the last embers burn and fly,
a final tear comes to my eye.

Told pain of the past kindles love,
we lay on the sand, watch the stars above.
with the burning of the tree,
finally my soul is free.
.