||[Mar. 9th, 2012|06:19 pm]
An obsidian stone, imperfect|
With chips and lines, the shine
Of water and wear, painting the story of ages...
Splashes into the stillness and reverberates,
Rotates the sounds of silence, and chills to the bone
The slowly blinking frog, who shifts
Ever so slightly.
Rain droplets follow,
Making a harbinger out of a simple