What could have been glorious

 

Flashes of gold on mud brown ripples. Not crimson,

though I wanted that, nor silver, but golden. Not blue

 

or turquoise, but mud brown ripples that run

from my eyes to the end of the plane

 

where early morning sand, meets cloudy morning sky.

No, the glimmer did not, could not come to life.

 

I tried and tried, then harder I tried, but a page

was flipped somewhere. It broke the waves,

 

then another was flipped, another and the next.

Ripples of anger rushed in with frustration to fill my mind.

 

Out went what could have been glorious.