There's a dragonfly that lives in the box upon my nightstand,
a dragonfly made of sterling silver,
damned upon a polished chain.
Under its wings,
a gem of garnet
and a gem of citrine.
On them,
inscribed a promise,
broken and unfulfilled.
It reads, "My love, always."
As if it were the ironic echo
of a short hour passed.
I wish to look upon this dragonfly fondly,
but like a ring without purpose,
it looms as an icon of long-forgotten perfection.
My soul sighs,
And my heart still aches
at the thought.
I feel my love too
Is trapped in that box upon my nightstand,
With that dragonfly of sterling silver.
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PoetryMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
