Monday, July 13, 2015

POEM: "Mock"


At the core of desire
A woman stops and turns
And says I waited for so long

It’s not my age we laugh
I say you aren’t the face
You say I’m not the heel

The fruit eventually ripens
Split pomegranate in two
A little light gets through

The moth mocks the flame
All burns bright for a day
And the sun sets with a puff

Later the dust is scattered 
The world opens and shuts
We eat the blood and bone.

© 2015 Rob Schackne

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