The pebble in the box.

small pebble

in a wooden box

gradient of hope

made by man

loose fitting

still now

rope of woven leaves

against the grain

gentle flower

too quick to be seen

beat of wing

heartfelt but not true

step lightly

it falls fast

a crown of thorns

never in fashion

soft skin

nothing shows

light bears nothing

a small burn

everything changed while watched

which was a path

some things are not by rote

honey becomes ashes

once loved

a sword cannot cut

hand written

give me your arms

think a thought of sleep

eye has no memory of colour

 engines become too broken

wander out with me

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