He chose each pearl so careful and slow,
Twisting each globe in his fingers.
He placed them together to look at their glow,
At the beauty that just seemed to linger.
He wove them together with wire so thin
It could barely be seen in the gaps,
And he trimmed down the ends where they’d poke at her skin,
So the sharp stabbing ends weren’t a trap.
He twisted it up as a rope for her neck
And clasped the ends tightly together,
So even when grimy and covered in specks,
She could wear the fine necklace forever.
But the pearls held no charm when turned into rope
That wrapped her up in a noose;
She coiled the wire around her own finger
And broke it, the pearls coming loose.
They were not the same, scattered over the floor,
They could not be worn every day,
But they caught the light better, reflected it more:
They’re still beautiful, but in a new way.
I know this is a bit of a new thing for me and the blog, but I’ve been writing a lot of (non-humorous!) poetry recently, and mucking about with different forms and metaphors. What do you think?