Ode to Pearls

June 18, 2015

A dream of midnight and the moon
The cold smooth sphere
That slips and slides between fingers.
Lustrous pebble taken from dark waters
To gild radiant lives while carrying still
Its unfortunate aura of mystery;
Of the exotic, of the distance.
Pale haunted orbs within which lurk
The unanswered questions
Who am I?
Why am I here?
Questions that are never answered
But mercilessly ensnared into an intricate design,
(or maybe it is a brace)
That holds, tightly holds
With chains and lashings
All the elements in place –
White porticoed halls
Mint juleps, sundresses and gowns
Ceaseless languor of dissolution and time
– To create another ball of fantasy
White, versatile and pampered
That creates the fuels of trade and death
For these cold, soulless, white orbs.

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