For consideration

There’s sound,


alone, aground.


No beach, to see,

nor shore there be,

to safely hold,

this surviver told.


The trees they seem,

so lush and green,

in forests lush,

it’s depths mistrust.


To find a land,

sure to stand,

say as my own,

years there grown.


What of man,

that seems he can,

make his kingdom,

build castle on.


Nay, keep,

where sleep,

no fears emerge,

a fortress stirs.


Yet be it he,

where can set free,

all that around,

in solace is found.


To grown,

to know,

wherever may go,

be he, that be,


Author's Notes/Comments: 

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