Blue Waves

Her name was Blue.

Not for originality, her parents were too clever for that.

It’s rather for the reflection of her eyes,

displaying our earth, our universe, our entangled minds.


Always changing.

Her spirit flew up and down with the pulse of a forest beneath my feet.

Some say her soul is restless like the ocean, but I disagree.

Not how the ocean cannot be still, but rather how rain

patters softly on a rooftop.

Steady. Light.


Her heart was loyal.

Not like the golden retriever, she was too untame for that.

Rather loyal in the way you can rely on rocks to hold back the waves.


Concrete. Constant.

I treated her like those waves.

Cresting and crashing and wearing away the patience of the

Blue eyes that bore into my ever-changing mind.

I am the eroding waves.


Blue, thank you for being the selfless shore.


This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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