Keepers are horders
Gates,
To the edge of the surf;
The wave of debris.
The waters of silt-packed luxury.
Stand with your toes in the grainy blue sand
Wade in this current
Whether you be woman or man
One more trinket, one more cent spent
The very clutter begins to eat rent.
Money and wealth; material things
Trophies and treasures, alike.
At the shop window an antique silver ring
Shining in store light
Waiting for the bite...
The fish struggle against the cruel binds
Of the Net.
Another trout at the bottom of the find
Just hoping that the gift bag won't tear yet.
Rain on paper. It's a bet.
MUSINGS #13: What do you think? Is this poem literal or a metaphor? Or is it both? A poem can mean anything if you feel it is relatable in some way. Find its meaning to you.
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Musings: A Poetry Compilation
PoetryPoetry and prose for the poets out there eager to get their helpings of more and more of the written page...because there is never enough ink to satisfy the soul.
