Shells would stay there, quietly,
if given the chance to last.
But ground must be gained
for progress’ sake,
and so sand they become, willingly.
Mixed and pigmented,
bottled and spread,
to many corners, to nooks,
sometimes even to shells.
They would take satisfaction to see
their own newfangled beauty,
if but eyes they had without.
But those with eyes only ever look up,
wishing for impossible wings.
If we’d glanced to tread, twice instead,
perhaps we’d have seen better things.
To appreciate a sacrifice, humbly,
one might close our gaze.
To know the hearts,
play smaller parts,
and give of one self, freely.
Happy first day of National Poetry writing month! I’m glad that I have the bandwidth to attempt it this year. Last year I was overwhelmed with a new job and it simply didn’t happen. So, starting off with a moderately horrible poem inspired by painting pottery today. I’m sure it’ll get better later in the month; I’m quite out of practice and rhyming is not my friend right now. But hey that’s the point, right? 🙂