The Shell

My inner being has long been emptied into rivers of time long forgotten by me. 

As I lay deep within the riverbed, the hardness of my shell still draws visitors of endless seaweeds that cling for a moment before moving on.   I yearn for them to stay awhile and keep me amused. 

Why should I beg for comfort, let all things pass through to where they must go?  My shell cannot weep for itself, nor can it laugh or ask for forgiveness for being empty.  I am broken by the turbulence of the quaking floor.   It has left me with swirls of ingenious lines of pale yellow, blue, orange, pink and a heavy moss of green.

I have become a beacon when the morning sun shines on all my parts, transforming me into a fascination picked up by new hands.

Although a part of me is lost forever, the spirit of my soul still lays buried deep within.  I will always be protected against the changing times of nature.

If you see me and care to listen, my tales of the sea are true.