Thoughts Thrown From a Pier
It seems nothing is ever lost
but is transmuted, returns
to another state
or resurrects
into something new.
Take thoughts thrown from
a pier into the dark
water lapping below.
They make no sound
as they sink, resigned
to their fate,
becoming whispery filaments
of what had been
spectral inhabitants
of the head.
Long threads rise
to the surface and float
free to catch the moonlight,
becoming strands of silver
drifting off on an outgoing tide.
Where they go
nobody knows although
they are more than
what they seem,
webs set to catch
a passing soul and weave
a lovely face
into the tapestry
of a dream.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2024
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