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This poem is from the May 2, 2017 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from [livejournal.com profile] rix_scaedu. It has been sponsored by [personal profile] janetmiles.


"Cache Flow"


Throughout history,
people have done
as squirrels do,

digging in the dirt for
a place to hide their loot.

The caches hold
gold and silver,
coral and pearls,

the treasure of a lifetime
found only after death.

It is, always, a silent story
told by a loser, for the caches
of the winners are never found
but retrieved by their owners.

The earth releases its treasures
into the hands of humankind,
and when mortal flesh fails,
receives them back again.

The cache flow is like a tide,
in and out again, except
where someone is lost.

Then it is left to history
to unearth the gleaming hoard
and brush away the dirt to reveal
all manner of wondrous things.

It is left to archaeologists
to speculate on the owner's demise

for the prize itself lies silent.

* * *

Notes:

A cache is buried treasure, often coins or pearls.
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ysabetwordsmith: Cartoon of me in Wordsmith persona (Default)
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