Scraps of once-important stuff
Smallest hints of power
A piece of something caught the eye
In fickle minutes of an hour
Ocean drops of undertones
Barely noticed threads and strands
On the brink of small collections
Finding diamonds in the sands
A gradual state of interaction
That continues unforeseen
Invisibly the pressure builds
Returning all to smithereens
In the beginning, was the smithereen
No comments:
Post a Comment