Talisman
By John Herlihy

I once had a talisman;
I carried it everywhere.
As I went about my business,
I forgot even that it was there.
Its charm could be hypnotic;
Its appearance seemed exotic.
Filled to the brim, magic to hold,
Warm when the world feels cold.

Made of burnished volcanic rock,
A dark porous surface caught the light.
I always carried it around with me,
Tucked in my pocket out of sight.
Its size being nondescript and small,
But it bears the earth’s might.
Its shape is crude and uneven,
Much as in my given life.

In my hand it seems purposeful,
In facing problems that are myriad.
I carry it with my wallet and keys,
Like a sentence ending with a period.
In my pocket, it gives me pleasure;
It makes me feel safe and secure,
Brimming like a sunken treasure,
Awaiting a problem in need of a cure.

I awoke one day to find it gone,
And with it the magical charm.
Disappeared without a trace,
Giving cause to raise an alarm.
Until I realized it served its purpose,
A one particular stage in my life.
What now lies below the surface
Will play a tune on my rosewood fife.

(to be continued)