By B.S.Clifford.
They were lined up along the dock,
I couldn’t tell if they were enemies or friends.
Bobbing up and down,
Up and down,
Gracefully and silently
In the cold and inky black water.
They were tied up,
In pairs or by themselves.
They were waiting their turn.
Waiting
And aging.
They waited.
Innocent but dangerous,
Sturdy but fragile.
One of them groaned.
Soon it would leave.
Guide us on a long journey.
A journey of a lifetime and
Its final destination.
Slowly it was pulled up beside our feet.
It let out one sad and last protest
And unwillingly allowed us to board.
It was going to take us to freedom.
A place better than where I once called home.
I was wrong.
The waves were big.
The nights were endless.
The days were too bright.
Our journey took many nights,
Days,
Hours,
Minutes.
We finally arrived at a new shore.
I had to farewell my wooden friend.
He was an enemy here.
Beatrice Scanlon is a 15 year old high school student from Perth, WA. She is interested in music, plays drums and is a henna artist.
