The Shore | Teen Ink

The Shore

June 25, 2010
By haventy0uheard PLATINUM, Kings Park, New York
haventy0uheard PLATINUM, Kings Park, New York
28 articles 0 photos 186 comments

A face of glass,
No one dares stare,
For fear that it may break.
A heart of gold,
No one does see,
For it’s buried beneath,
Heartless misery.
Face concealed,
Behind her mask,
Her cherished walls,
Keep out the past.
Within these walls,
Disaster lies,
The faintest gleam,
Sparks in her eyes.
Her heart, a lone iceberg,
Lost in the blue,
What will it take,
For true life to shine through?
A life raft floats by,
Its passengers whisper words that can work miracles,
They scoop up her frozen, feeble heart,
Trying to save,
What’s already been torn apart.
Cradling small bits of life,
The gentle waves maneuver softly,
Caress her face of glass,
And for once the lost girl,
Can truly breathe,
Shake off a bit of past.
Soft heart beating, hesitant,
Finally a whisper breaks through,
“Bring me to the shore” she says,
“I’m begging you”
The lifeboat rocks softly,
Reminding her of simpler times and rickety old chairs,
And for once the lost girl feels almost okay,
Shakes off a bit of past.
And then all at once,
There is dark,
Though she knows she is safe,
Fear beats,
Into her mess of a heart.
But then she remembers the shore,
Light beats,
Much stronger than what was before,
She feels the heat on her fingertips,
Even through the dark.
A small pressure,
Squeezing her hand,
A whisper of hope,
Ice thaws and joins hands with the ocean,
Walls tumble into the merciless waves,
Eyes open.
She is alive,
Veins of light reach towards her golden heart,
The whispers coax her forward,
Silencing her awful past,
With a last goodbye,
And she does.
Her toes touch the warm sand,
Of the shore,
No longer the lost girl,
She looks around and wonders,
“Where have I been?
There’s so much more.”

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This article has 1 comment.

on Oct. 15 2011 at 2:36 pm
billlover420 GOLD, Justin, Texas
12 articles 0 photos 70 comments

Favorite Quote:
Boy, when you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery.  People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody. ~J.D. Salinger,The Catcher in the Rye,

wow this a wonderful poem