Ripe with joy,
a trembling fruit
cupped in the palms of Spring,
feet firmly planted on the moist
bed of my birthright,
wrapped so completely in Nature’s embrace,
yet this sunshine is shadowed
by the looming eclipse of my
descent

into the barren underworld
of cruel indifference,
the unflinching Fates politely refuse,
as my soul shatters,
the strain of
clinging,

lingering,


longing.
This swinging pendulum of life and death,

(back and forth,back and forth.)
A resident of nowhere,
the benefactress and the thief,


drifting...

between
two realities and two illusions.
Look into my eyes,
innocence robbed,
now glassy marbles
clouded by eternal youth,
makes me crave
something to sew me to a
side.
I think of pomegranate seeds
seven, eight, maybe four