The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.

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101. Sea Glass

I cannot be saved nor salvaged, for the thing is

is that I do not wish to be.

I wish to be washed away by the tide, my feathery

bones disintegrating into sea glass.

From my death, beauty shall sprout up out of the ocean,

and the children will find me by the shore.

Restless, and reckless as I am, as they are, looking

through me in the eye of the sun, I am not invisible.

The salty tears of the sea have devoured my worries,

and out of sadness, joy will replace it.

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