Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Tuesday, March 22, 2022

Sonnet #339

 Nothing will touch what is held in a clenched fist

The treasure sealed there will break before

The treasure can be shared unto another

Seal away your treasures in the tombs if you


The same as a fist, let time crush the beauty

That you can never see with hollow heads

Perhaps the insects that devour in your bed

Will appreciate the flavor of the treasures, bounty

But the end will be the same, only the dead,

Only the closed fist, punching away and breaking

My child, if I could put just one idea in your head

It would be this, an open hand hits harder, everything

Will break, but the treasure held openly

This is true strength: to be a dandelion throwing

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