Metaphors

Pastel petals grace the floor beneath us,

broken, torn and shredded.

Two too many years have slipped on by, counting one, two, "i love you, i love you not",

never loved a day out of seven hundred and thirty.

I planted my flowers one by one,

aster after aster, in shades of blue, like tidal waves.

<sub>Patience is my virtue but the ocean can't be tamed. Waves come in and out, pulling
me in to a sea salt abyss. The shells that I walked across like glass,

slice my feet, blind me quick and lead me to an island where the trees have no leaves,
and their roots carry no water.

The waves cut loose and the hurricane fades into a sunny day, leaving room for plenty of petals, soaking up the sunshine.

They say "I love you, I love you not"

while they drift to the dunes, sand swallowing them whole.

Patience is my virtue, and I stand above the ocean, waves pulling the cliff edge, scraping boulders into the sea's stomach, fueling tidal waves.

Blue as can be, the ocean can't be tamed.

I hit the sea's floor,
pastel petals grace the storm.</sub>