in my hand I hold a story
washed away by the sands of time
a fragment of the past
beaten and forgotten
stripped from depths that never saw the light
lost among the wreckage
of a perilous journey for years
it somehow found its way to me
but I cannot retell its tale
for its origins are still a mystery
forever lost under the waves
through all the uncertainty,
I know that I am holding
a connection to the past
a beautiful piece of beach glass
I recently took a walk along the shore and recovered a few pieces of beach glass that inspired me to write this. I began to wonder if they are a hundred year old remains from a shipwreck or simply a bottle that fell overboard… They could be anything, and the possibilities seemed endless. I think it is amazing to consider the story behind something so simple, and the history of something in my hand. What are your thoughts on this?
Writing Rose 