Six Seeds
The seeds ignited her body
like a tallow candle,
burning away her perfections
into only sharp angles
that would cut you if you stood too close.
Her laughter remained the golden light of stars,
now cold, long dead, receding into blackness.
What we plant carries a mystery;
what we harvest a promise.
In the end, she didn’t eat them, they ate her.
How else could we explain the loss
of the green day?
The seeds ignited her body
like a tallow candle,
burning away her perfections
into only sharp angles
that would cut you if you stood too close.
Her laughter remained the golden light of stars,
now cold, long dead, receding into blackness.
What we plant carries a mystery;
what we harvest a promise.
In the end, she didn’t eat them, they ate her.
How else could we explain the loss
of the green day?
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson