Litkicks Message Board Archive

poem for poetry

Posted to Action Poetry

My words are
Borrowed mother of pearl
From ancient sands; crafting with time.
Arranging, organizing, growing, existing past
Exhausted sea shell,
And broken rhyme.
My poem,
A mystery even to me,
Discovers itself in broken glass, in old conches,
In anything upon the shore.
It is, like happiness, so very much more,
Then what it had first appeared to be.