It lies
in limbo
a beautiful
wreckage
glistening chrome
the wind
from the sea
stings salty
tears for the
deaths of
youths and
one man
whose name
is not
spoken but
whispered along
the cobbles
of the shore
nature at
its most
unnatural
tells all
and nothing
a secret
like that
of Midas
but the touch
is silver
not gold
tainted heavily
with guilt
the tale
sung by
the breeze
but not
the villagers
their tell-tale
hearts thumping
as they
pass by
for they hear
those voices
that will not
be drowned
A poem I wrote when I was about 16 after visiting Maggi Hambling's Shell sculpture near Aldeburgh. I had managed to arrange it to resemble a shell on the page I wrote it on but can't quite replicate that here.