Dec 29
poem 0 comments challenge: Wordgame


The world is made of eggshells
And if your footsteps are more then a whisper
The Earth will crumble into darkness
And the others will forget to remember us.

The eggshells once held a tiny spark of life
A hope for the future.
Sometimes the spark would blossom into a flower
And other times
The spark would be snatched out of its cocoon
And cracked onto a sizzling pan.

The eggshells meant life to the hen
But to us?
Discarded unto the brown soil
Until the soil burned with fire from the sky
And only eggshells remained.

The world is made of eggshells
And if our voice soars and dares to be
The eggshells will become ash 
And they will forget to remember us.

About the Author: LadyMidnight
"There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemmingway