poem

 Jewels

Most of us are lucky to find

something precious. Everyone is

always searching even if they

don't admit it.  Everyone wants this.

That’s how love is.  

Some glow red and some come 

hidden in the core

of the darkest heart.

Some we thread with

chains and wear around

our necks. Protective talismans. 

Givers of powers unbeknownst.  

Some we only take out 

when we’re sad, when we can't 

exactly remember, or are afraid to forget.

Some we celebrate, some we pray 

to. Some are kissed. Some caressed.  

Some are perfect. Some seem far from here.

And some are home.  

All we know is we cannot live

without them. Mine— how it shined!—

I held within my hand

for a brief time 

and then I gave it back.

Isn’t that what love is?  

1/22/22