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Click hereI am seashells, tumbled glass, drift wood
stringy seaweed, slightly torn
sand blasted, weather worn
whisper clinking, against the storm
I hang from gnarled cypress, gripping
jagged cliff along the shore
I love a good squall that tears at my soul
until small pieces of beauty are born
But I wish I were amethyst crystals, copper bells
on golden thread, a pristine melody
tossing word rainbows
sculpted from air, admired by all
hanging from bright autumn oak
on the hill above the swimming hole
where 4 o’clock breezes and gentle rains
set my poet voice to tinkling
A very good metaphor on a thought shared by all aspiring writers.
This gets better every time you read it.
I could only wish for a different word choice than "swimming hole". The oak could be anywhere, and somehow "hole" just rings wrong to my ear.
I enjoyed the first version, but you managed to keep the spirit and words and make is so much better!! you really are talented, I hope you keep writing and posting, I enjoy you very much :)
maria
You know how much I loved it...glad you submitted it.
Your work is getting better and better.
Thank You