The Pebble in my Hand

I think it's kind of lighthearted, considering how my poems can get. >.>

The pebble in my hand ripples against my skin,

And shivers through my body until my eyes are

translucent from their vibrations. It was once

A boulder on which the moon could cast her face.

And, weathered, it holds the memory now in its heart,

Beating with agitation against its ribcage.

It mumbles like a guilty child:

Once, I was something.

 

You, in a hurry, want to go farther down the beach

To see what there is to see,

And walk away, footprints filling with sand before

Your bare feet can even step out,

Leaving little dips behind you,

As if even the ground is sad to see you go.

 

But when you touch me,

I feel as though I could stretch

Through the thinning gaps of a net,

Slip into the ocean, deep

Into the prowling chasms beneath.

 

And, if you called for me from the shore,

Your arms crossed like an angry parent,

Your words would make the moonlight dance on the surface,

But I would not hear you.