For you,
I would move heaven and earth.
But where in the world would I put them?
The world is your oyster.
I shall place heaven and earth in an oyster.
Universal themes, these.
Pearls of wisdom.
Heaven and earth on the half shell.
To fit ships inside bottles is indeed very clever,
but I would prefer that my bottles held rum.
To ship boats in boxes – though no lofty endeavor –
while sipping on rum could be fittingly fun.
Moral:
Drunk lips drink ships; bottled boats don’t float.
Reluctantly I select one.
Meaningless; set it down.
Bored, I ponder others.
These to the left; those up top.
Angry, I’m seeing red.
To the right with those.
Puzzled, I look up.
“It’s forming a picture.”
“Yes,” smiles the therapist.
“That’s how this works.”
Like an itch in my psyche,
your insults taunt me.
In truth, am I that abhorrent?
Niggling accusations,
crippling judgments,
peripheral flashes of
forgotten shame…
That and more, you say.
We’ve only scratched the surface.
I really hate the sound of
my own voice.
Along life’s path
we cobble together experiences,
lessons learned, loves lost
and found.
Some leave no stone unturned
in their search for meaning.
Others piece their stones together
along an uneven trail,
and do not mind when
moss gathers to fill in the gaps.
Come outside, it’s raining!
Damp tree scents tickle our noses;
delicious, earthy chills.
Raindrops splash in puddles.
Watch them dance; taste the freshness.
Hear the rain trickle through
moss-furred branches overhead.
Feel the wet soaking in.
Then back inside to shake it all off.
dVerse Quadrille: Don’t rain on my parade!
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