Refraction
I wanted this infatuation stone.
Perched upon the fringe of a great unknown.
Wading into warm shallows called hope
My eyes out of tune with the murky shoal.
Reaching out with lusty intent.
Bumping infatuation over the ledge,
Wobbling down a trail of salty nonchalance,
Following, like a drunken, big-footed clown.
Leaving sunlight behind with each foolish stroke.
Into a deep blue ball of unforgiving cold.
Blue relenting to a black pod abyss.
Until the spirit struck the face of godless.
A million stones for a fool to blindly grope.
With handfuls of infatuation, I quickly rose
Each stroke loosening up a few more stones.
Breaching the surface with nothing left.
But the refraction of lust and the ghost of regret.
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