The Night The Shells Changed You

His fingers moved on them back and forth,

Each one holding a million years of worth,

And they ended up in his young strong hand,

Was it always made for him? a gift from the sand,

Sea tides and the last breath of a creature,

And from her, this strong and silent preacher

When she gave them away he did not stop to look

At how the tears in her sparkling eyes shook,

He knew tears, he knew she was scared even though

She was too brave as to let it show,

And he knew his fear too, that's why he so quickly

Hid them away, their edges seemed old and prickly,

they seemed wise and they might have spilled

Secrets that so long his black box had filled,

Their hollowness, look at their core so hollow,

Did picking them up ever sooth her sorrow?

Was I hard to miss?

Did she listen to them and remember our kiss

in their cavernous tides? much like her love

Always sinking deeper, but taking her above,

There, her eyes in them started to appear

In the hollowness to bid the night clear

I remember how she said something about

them having magical powers to clear all the doubt,

and I remember seeing her without really seeing her,

and feeling their magic in such a colorful blur,

If only I can run my fingers on their ridges

without fear of burning her crystal bridges,

If only she would know how those shells

Are such a threat if they cast their spells,

I'd bury them in wells, and to hell with the vow,

I'd throw them back into the sea if I only knew how,

He held in his hand all eight of them

A bridled white that he ought to condemn,

And he stood in the dead of night on the street,

Arms stretched, his hands marked by their heat,

He threw with all his might, but his hand refused

To obey his mind, then the riot diffused,

And soon his heart itself could not comply,

And then his mind fell motionless to their tie,

He would not do it, but he can not acknowledge

that her little shells had sharper than him an edge,

And the bridge, let him walk all over it tonight,

Will he try to throw them away again? He might.

I picked them up from the heart of the sand,

Washed them in the soul of the sea and

Thought that someday they were a home

for a poor creature that died at the foam

of his violent world after having lived deep

After joy lit up high and fear down did creep,

But he died alone and now his home was hollow,

So I took his home for my home to borrow

And maybe when he finds his home someday

He'll need a home to give her,so he'll give them away,

Maybe then their spell would set him free,

God, How I wish they would eventually return to me.