Feb 10, 2009

02-10-09 Beads


Ruby red smeared on my lips,
Juice from the pomegranate.
Spit seeds to the side.
Fingers dyed crimson,
Purplish red.
Skin torn hastily
From it's head.
Pink dripping down my chin,
Juice from the pomegranate.
Handful of bitter sweet fruit.
White guts ripped
To shreds
To get to the heart
It's already dead.
Seems like a child's work,
Searching for the little beads.
Ripened by the sun and rain.
Opened by my selfish hands,
No chance to be reborn again.
Life of the pomegranate.
Dropped from bushes
Cracked by birds
Or just the hardened soil.

Spill forth from waste,
Or rotting flesh.
Seeds spread out
Across the land.
Little beads of life
May dig again.
Birth of a pomegranate.

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