Broken Shells

There's something melancholy about seashells
I find them in many places so far from the sea
In those old jelly candles at thrift stores
Or the cloudy ones that burn the shells when lit
Bowls of shells from someone elses vacations
Big ones that are broken and dusty
Their pinks and purples long faded away
The spiky comb ones with only nubs left
It's strange to me that we don't view them like bones
Beautiful mural remains of creatures called mollusks
They're such beautiful unpraised little things
Taken far away and left to gather dust