My heart is an opal,
the light of life shining through
earthly vesicles of beaten stone
worn smoothe into granules:
interspersed with sentiment.
Try as I might,
nothing but artifice
hides the softness of my outside,
the days are gouges
undesired on my surface.
I do not long for youth,
and acknowledge the depths
and time it takes to bring my form
to its present spangles of
an imperfect spectrum.
But somedays I'd rather have
both beauty and hardness,
like a diamond.