Shell on a Shelf

I live in a conch now.

Exoskeletal remains that used to hold life

My walls echo like the sea it used to be steeped in

But is now miles removed

I live in a husk now.

Dry and brittle

Sapped of the moisture of the living

Tinder for some future fire

I live with ghosts now.

They dance as though they never died

Specters in my mind

Deepening the silence 

I am the conch.

I am the shell.

Bone dry, ornamental

A souvenir of better times