xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Ceramic Artist- Ryszard Stryjec
XXXXXXXSAND IN THE SHELL
It's a speck of sand that's crept into my shell,
that I'm trying to spit out
to cough up.
What places this dust in me?
Am I to be torn,
to be hurt by a floating dot?
I heard a rumor that this is the launch
of a life inside
that pulls and scratches and embeds
till here it is,
this phantom from my previous days,
before redemption or good deeds could save me.
Eat me up, let's see who will survive this wound
where a tiny pearl yet to swell
whispers I am the return,
just as you are the carrier.
This life in a bubble,
shielded from the plague,
later believes it's a feather,
that tie a knot,
that stops the blood.
c copyright/ all rights reserved