Sunday, April 17, 2005

The barette sits
On the table, surrounded
By things unknown to it.

A reminder of the past.

Things gone

Feelings ended

The dream that is shattered
Like glass, sparkling
In a thousand gleaming peices.

But the barette sparkles
No more. Tarnished
By neglect, it sits unused.

Like the dark place in my soul.

No comments: