a wave of doubt will come over me
and leave flotsam on my minds shore.
Perhaps a bit of sea glassed depression,
but it's nothing my mind
hasn't been able to polish
into something spectacular.
It's my belief that everyone
has these waves from time to time.
Unfortunately, for some these waves
are typhoons of guilt created by others.
For them,
doubt becomes impossible to overcome.
It's not only their shore
that becomes impossible to clean
but their entire city.
How could you possibly blame them
for giving up on their faith,
when no one was there
to pick them up after it was our storms
that knocked them down?
It's my job:
to keep my flotsam off your shore and city,
to teach you how to use yours to your advantage,
to help clean the scrap from your shore,
and-undivided-restore it to a beauty unmatched.
