Writing.

I havn't written here in a long time.
The poems I've posted have been written for other purposes.


This, however, is a vain attempt at writing something, different.

Stuff it. That's not going to work.
I can not currently put what I'm thinking or feeling into sentences and paragraphs.
That's why my tumblog has been overused of late.

I want to write something that is at once meaningful and universal.
I want to write something that is at once interesting and personal.
I want to write something that is at once poigniant and popular.

I want to write something at once.

The Shell: A Mothers' Day Poem

What is the shell?
It is a home.
A place to dwell,
A place to live, and to live well.

What is the shell?
It is protection.
Against the storm,
And when it‘s cold, to keep us warm.

What is the shell?
It is a jewel.
Its beauty shines,
The Sun it reflects, ‘round curvèd lines.

What is the shell?
It is a bard.
It tells its story,
Listen: it whispers, tells of its glory.

What is the shell?
It is like mum.

Her beauty shines, she gives protection,
The stories she tells are home’s reflection.

What is a mum? What is a shell?
Of both, you see, no tongue can tell.

This poem, then, is but a start,
More lies within, within the heart.