When the sea’s churn is endless,
And all comfort’s denied,
Let me live on this tongue,
And by its words die.
“I was a vessel from tempest.
I was your chance to transform.
Yet in the inky swells recess,
You still shied from a storm.”
No rough edge made smooth,
No dull thing made to shine.
Every ridge and harsh groove,
I own to be mine.
And to the mouth of the shell,
From whence I was spit,
I’ll parry this truth:
Some pearls aren’t worth ****
Jan 21, 2024
Jan 21, 2024 at 3:25 AM UTC
When the sea’s churn is endless,
And all comfort’s denied,
Let me live on this tongue,
And by its words die.
“I was a vessel from tempest.
I was your chance to transform.
Yet in the inky swells recess,
You still shied from a storm.”
No rough edge made smooth,
No dull thing made to shine.
Every ridge and harsh groove,
I own to be mine.
And to the mouth of the shell,
From whence I was spit,
I’ll parry this truth:
Some pearls aren’t worth ****
