Saturday, May 7, 2016

Karen King writes

You were in a seashell,
hiding in a soft, smooth cavity,
safe from the world.
It was like you had drawn
velvet curtains around yourself.
Outside, your edges were sharp
and your surface was rough.
Slowly, I ventured in,
through the long, dark tunnels.
The journey was arduous,
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling,
the air was musty and fetid.
Shadows crept up on me,
taking me unawares.
The glass of your windows
was smeared,
untouched and unloved.
Your abode was dusty
and uncared for.
The taste of stale air
reached my nostrils,
contaminating my mouth.
Drops of rain dripped
slowly and steadily
from your ceiling,
making the floor
wet and slippery.
I felt unwanted.
You tried to send me away
time after time,
but I forced back your curtains
and exposed your soul.
I mended your roof,
cleaned the windows,
cleaned the walls,
cleaned the ceiling,
swept the floor.
I dusted,
opened the windows,
put flowers in the windows,
made you some cakes,
sat down and we talked
and talked.
The remaining negativity dispersed
with the hopeful,
shining sun as it shone
through your clean windows
and illuminating droplets of rain
on your trees in blossom.
The birds twittered in delight
outside your windows.
The wind danced for joy,
gently rocking the birds to and fro
like babies in a crib.
The blossoms blew
and some fell off the trees,
giving a magical
and surreal scene,
landing, like white snow,
on the ground.
You looked at me
as you reached across
and took my hand,
gently smiling.
I led you outside your shell
to the big world outside
and you
took your first steps
into our new world.
 Sea Shells - Richard Ficker

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