Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Mary Annie A. V. writes

The creature
that has been wounded 
now lies dead
somewhere trapped
in the labyrinths
of an unnamed world.

The shell
that housed it
litters the sand
where our footsteps fall.

Within my palms
I savour its smoothness
my fingers
caress its emptiness.

From its cave
I hear it bellow
a funeral dirge 
as I raise it to my lips
to bid farewell.
 Image result for conch painting
Nymph with Conch Shell --William Stephen Coleman

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