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| A Silken Grave I watched his hair, each strand a silken thread, fall in slow motion over a furrowed brow. His displeasure made me squirm, considering rash reason of his concern. I never thought to lose that bonding band of gold, sunk downward through the chlorine pool. Smarting eyes so burned into the silver shine, but failed to come up with the prize. We faced the chasm of silence, molded to the scene, faces turned away, feelings raw as a silk screen. Then he laughed, a masculine, uncaring splash and said it was just a ring. He bought one new without vows, and placed it on the finger of the one he loves. We smiled at ease of the problem solved. But - ah, that worn ring did so quickly fall... At times I wonder about promises exchanged, and if chlorine might ruin the golden shine sunk in blue-silk waters, there entombed with time. |
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