Ever Changing Tides by: Rachel Shaw

There,

It shimmers best there.

On the great ocean waves.

Sweetly drowning many victims

In a passionate,

Yet truly tragic way.

There it shatters them.

Their individual selves.

To be disfigured,

But then reassembled,

Into one.

There,

In the depths,

A nightingale.

Singing ever curiously,

In hushed tones.

Whispering soft nothings to the breeze.

Butterflies seem to come and go.

Never knowing their way.

Out of the jar,

Braving the allures of the sea.

How strong,

Can a little butterfly be?

When the beautiful nightingale sings,

Will parish be birthed to uncertainty?