Tossing and turning
In my bed –
A pebble.
Slowly I am rocked by
Waves of dreams
Until I am no more than sand
On the shore of my pillow,
Gritty between the sheets.
With the dawn
Tide rolls out.
All manner of sea creatures,
Each more complex than the last,
Rest on my chest as I breathe
Deeply and try to recall
What it was to be a stone.
Abandoned shells,
Beautiful but
Empty
Lay between my fingers.
Shards of glass fall into the depths and
Wash up
On my toes
Sharp edges gone.
I cannot decide if I like
These things
Or if I would rather return
To being a pebble
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
Tossing and turning
In my bed –
A pebble.
Slowly I am rocked by
Waves of dreams
Until I am no more than sand
On the shore of my pillow,
Gritty between the sheets.
With the dawn
Tide rolls out.
All manner of sea creatures,
Each more complex than the last,
Rest on my chest as I breathe
Deeply and try to recall
What it was to be a stone.
Abandoned shells,
Beautiful but
Empty
Lay between my fingers.
Shards of glass fall into the depths and
Wash up
On my toes
Sharp edges gone.
I cannot decide if I like
These things
Or if I would rather return
To being a pebble
