by M. M. Kolf
You eat from my table,
And leave me nothing.
Then you lay upon my form
This weighty cauldron,
Dank and empty.
It presses mightily,
Withholding air that gives rhyme and reason to life
Destroying my frame.
I show you the door
But you raise your brow and smirk
Then folding your arms, you lean against my wall.
‘Bless you!’ I force, shaking my head.
Had you never crept into this place
I never would have cared
To find that orchard where the soil is rich,
Where sumptuous fruit burdens great branches
Bending them low with their weight
And much fruit lays rotting for sheer abundance.
Knowledge of the Divine
I will have it!
I leave for new territories
Now see the flint in my eye!
Save your words,
(You must know that though
The Sun may beat me
Or the sands may swallow me,
Death is only
The first flutter of wings
Of newly gotten flight
I fear no flight)
This walk is worthwhile.
This walk is worthwhile.
