Life is a curious thing;
As fragile as glass,
As precious as gold.
Spun slowly from a thousand strands of silver
Spider web.
Sewn and patched together from
Old clothes
By the sorrow-sweet whistling
Of the wind.
Made in
a shell
that a child has placed against his ear
To hear the sea.
Made with
Sea foam
and Mermaids’ songs
and Rocky cliffs
and Storm and Lightening
and Laughter.
Nothing more than
A fluffy white cloud
That gradually turns greyer
The further Time carries her lantern
Across the sky.
Beautiful,
delicate,
Unique,
perfect,
simple,
present,
solidly
Dreamlike.
Strong.
Does anyone appreciate life
When they have it?
or does it require great misery
for this to ring true.
YOU ARE READING
Parts of Me
PoetryWhenever you read one of my poems You hold a part of me, And it hides in my brain or beating heart Now I give it to thee. You may hold this precious Part For a while, at least. So treat it well, respect my thoughts, And there shall be a peace. For i...
