Travelling the Mind

A shell cracked open.
To find silently sealed secrets.

An amphitheatre of cold stone,
Worn by the wondering and bustling of tiny feet.
A never ending play, without one on show.
The velvet curtains are always still.
Then open. Staring

At sky. The wind.
Carrying fallen paper in a storm,
Towards a pier. A boat.
Layered and strewn with trinkets and pictures.
Cast off. Sailing

To a shore.
A wall less room cluttered and quietly calm,
Plain and passive. But a box.
Damaged, marked and broken.
Lift the lid. Gently.

Thrown out.



Poetry by deathsdestiny
Read 786 times
Written on 2011-04-11 at 15:59

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