Precious

I’ve started watching Broadchurch. Wrote a poem about it. Took less than three minutes, no edits really.

and I came closer,

and I was reminded of myself

so many layers behind

so many thousands of years away

and there we were,

suspended.

I am loathe to speak ill

to cast you out over the sea

bread crumbs, fleshing out misdeeds

and I stayed still,

to let it wash over me.

I am young once

I am still young

I have a very small voice

and I have very small hands

it comforts me to know this

it comforts me to know I am capable of being

comforted.

come,

the sea will not hurt you or me

and neither will the touch.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

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