Cashmere Illusions

Musings of a lady poet.

Broken Glass

J. Lynne Moore

Dainty shards lay on the floor,
Where once there was a glass.
I cut my hand and so much more;
‘Twas not I that committed the trespass.

The wounds were deep and ragged,
And festered as I wept.
Blood tumbled to the floor,
As the shards I gently swept.

Who broke the glass, I know not;
‘Twas shattered before my time,
But here I stand among the lees,
Wasting away my prime.

The fractured ort has been disposed,
The blood washed away by tears.
But the scars from the broken glass
Will adorn me for all my years.

Dance of the Tides

By J. Lynne Moore

The tides will not wait,
for the hearts of men.
They dance with naked stars,
and have no shame in sin.

They ride the waves of eternity,
cutting a path of faith;
content in lunar harmony,
loved by the moonbeam wraith.

A boundary set between worlds,
salt and sand collide.
No force can bring an end,
to the ballet of the tide.