A Jeweled Digression

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Beyond Price

A handful of pearls, clutched tight.

 

Pressed to my heart, picking up the beat.

They harmonize, pale and perfect.

Shimmering like hidden salvation, faith through torment.

 

I open my hand shyly, pearls across my palm.

 

You regard them with your own eyes, not mine.

Agates, marbles, bottle caps.

They do not sing to you, to you they do not whisper secrets.

To you they simply are.

 

I close my hand.

Let them ease my soul.

Smooth and even, spheres of the divine.

 

A handful of pearls.

 

I can’t care what you don’t see.

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3 Comments

  1. One can’t treasure what they do not value, even a pearl is but an irritant to the clam.

  2. They do not sing to you, to you they do not whisper secrets.

    This is truth. What I value, the one opposite me may not. What I see as beautiful, and of worth, they may see only as dross to be cast aside.

    It goes that way with people, too. Whom I see as wonderful, beautiful, necessary…others at times have shaken their heads and questioned why I love this one, why I chose that one.

    People are not patchwork, but I see correlations: mending, fixing, refashioning. Embroidering. Rebuilding the basic structure, making it beautiful and necessary again. Love and care as thread and needle.

    *smiles* But then, I’m me. And have a fair bit of patchwork here and there, myself…

  3. mmmm Audrey nods


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