Broken glass.
A danger to all who walk upon it. Cutting the unsuspecting.
Waves wash the shore.
Tumbling.
Polishing.
Rounding.
Slowly changing
Bits of broken glass
Into pretty baubles.
Now safe to pick up.
To hold in your hand.
A gift from the ocean.
Life, too, washes against us.
Somedays breaking us apart.
Fracturing lives.
Making us painful people.
Able to hurt even those we love.
But brush against the Father.
His gentle, but necessary polishing.
Slowly rounds and changes.
Until we become
Gentle,
Beautiful.
Gifts to all we meet.
My coat and I live comfortably togther. It has assumed all my wrinkles, does not hurt me anywhere, has moulded itself on my deformities, and is complacent to all my movements, and I only feel its presence because it keeps me warm. Old coats and old friends are the same thing. Do you agree?
Posted by: Air Jordan | Mar 14, 2011 at 10:56 AM
Not really sure what to say, but I feel like I should say something. I really like this poem, the words are great (actually make me think of a book I just read by Sue Monk Kidd, as far as the imagery goes) and I like the visual perspective you add to your poems. It's too bad you're not going to be here to give us a reading, I'm assuming that based on your being an Orlando student.
Posted by: Kasey Martin | Apr 26, 2005 at 03:16 PM