Constantly bashed,
rinsed daily,
used as an artist's ashtray,
or a hippies necklace,
Enough contained inside
to suffice and survive.

Moods form the swirls
and my lattice artwork,
You held me once in
wonder and awe,
Now you sell me on your
wicker stand.

Friends have wept over the loss
of their inner pearl,
I held no such treasure.
Just possibilities of where I have been.
Patiently await the day you hold me to your ear again,
So I can hear your heartbeat