Cracks
All motions
of the day,
all thoughts,
are tumbled,
of the day,
all thoughts,
are tumbled,
polished in
their repetition,
smooth as
river stones,
But underneath
their cool and clean,
and glossy glow
are hidden cracks
and hollow cores
and with just one
too many spins
the lot
will crush
to dust.
Published by Tina Twito
I'm 39, with a wonderful husband (in Iowa), and a daughter who lives in NC with her hubby (love them both!). I write mostly children's stories and poetry (rhyming poetry, traditional poetry, haiku, but mostl... View profile
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7 Comments
Post a CommentGrealt poem .
I deplore routene. I have few left. lol
So glad it spoke to you. Your comments mean a lot to me. (And I love Dickinson!)
Delightful.
Wow. I love this...Lovely day Ms. Tina:)
So true! Most women would probably recognize themselves in your poem.
This poem really moved me. I keep reading it over and over. The ending is beautiful and really takes the concept of the polished stone a step further. How often can we tumble before we fall apart.