micro-conceit trio, expanded


a vow's meridian


A tide‑glass hour ends before the sand, but the sea keeps counting.

A ring compass points north yet circles my finger like a vow.

Even broken, a lantern shard keeps a fragment of the night inside.

North waits for no tide; it circles in gold.

A vow can light the way, even in shards.

The night ends before the sand, and the sea continues counting.




Poetry by anonface
Read 2684 times
Written on 2025-09-20 at 14:18

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