Bright Orange Seaglass by Trisha De GraciaI picked you from your rocky place of rest
and held you to my ear to hear
what words you had for me.
Alas
your voice produced no fluid sound
save for waves that beat upon
my aching, waiting drum.
Illiusion in an empty shell.
I heard my blood protest your fixed concavity
and watched you fall away
to shatter-
turn to sand and die
(a thousand fragments of a broken promise)
scattered at the shore. 05/16/2005 Author's Note: Guessing gets me no where. Asking gets me no where. Saying gets me no where. I am stagnating.
Posted on 05/16/2005 Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia
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