V. 2. / 121.) The Purple Seashells . . .

The purple seashells

Pressed in place upon the golden strand:

The jewelled porticoes and windows

In my castle made of sand

These – these had been the things

I had counted in my house for good

But which, in my seeing them, as such

Had been as empty eggshells only

And, as brittle, easily broken, were

Vanity alone

All my sequestered

Good was nothing but emptiness

My celestine riches – my purple treasures

Once set within the gilded castle of my heart

Had been all unknowingly for show

Life’s stolen sea of riches to placate the self

It was the age-old way of goodness

A way once the norm but now no more

It didn’t work

Red herrings all, and in the end deceitful ends

Dead ends all – showing only –

The evilness of goodness:

Pressed in good – visibly added  

  

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