I am like a pecan tree
and my poems are nuts
Some pecans are full of holes
bored by worms and other things
that hollow out the nut from inside
Other pecans are fully formed
beautifully shaped and
filled with goodness that
is a delight to the tongue
the soul and the body
Likewise some of my poems
are full of holes
drilled by worms of hate
anger self doubt and
fear of rejection
And others are actually
fit for human consumption
hopefully filled with
love emotion and
universal experience
Does the tree ever know
which nuts will grow
or which nuts are
deformed and unfit
for anything but compost
Does the tree even
know that it is nuts
that define what it is
I am a pecan tree
and my poems are nuts
and a tree is alas
known by its fruits
1 comment:
Love this analogy... makes me want to write some pecans of my own, knowing that a tree full of perfect nuts is never something the tree is probably striving for. I'm thinking the tree doesn't judge the nuts with worms etc either... it's too busy being a tree and making more nuts!
So glad you're writing again....
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