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.