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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1518847
Hoarding hurt
Like a dragon,
I brood over my false hoard—
sharp, glittering chips
reflect my burning.

Though plated scales armor me,
shattered glass grinds
long, raw gashes
in my soft underbelly.

Guarded and guarding,
I crouch turned in on myself,
chew open old wounds
that should have healed by now.

When will I sweep my tail,
empty this cavern,
and rest on a bare floor
of fresh, clean peace?

Contest/publish records:
http://loveboxes.blogspot.com/2012/03/to-repent.html, 3/26/12
Messages on the Water http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/merrijane
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