Little Occy
A poem by Paul Pizzolo

Little Occy

Being awake for five days,
Speed, Ecstasy, Pot!
He forgets his personality
He forgets "the whole" lot.

He's fearlessly on his board,
The waves are at their peak,
So much peace and harmony,
The feeling we all seek.

The surfer has a fall
Then, floats back to the rears,
High as a kite he is,
But sees nothing, but his fears.

He can only change the future,
And learn from mistakes before.
Life is now appreciated
And he wants it more and more.