Old couples hold hands as they walk slowly
down the quiet grey beach, shrouded in mist.
They disappear into the fog, two by two.
Their lives are strands of copper wire,
flexing and bending until there’s nothing left to yield,
no sacrifice yet to make at the altar of love.

Fear grows like kudzu, gnawing at me; I wonder: am I copper?
The love of life flares, fueled by devotion, then flags,
charred by the dying embers buried beneath copper and sand.

Old couples walk down the beach; they don’t walk back.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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One Response to Copper

  1. jserolf says:

    I love the last line: “they don’t walk back.” That says a great deal to me!

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