Teardrops fall upon me as bloated shiny beads
of purple wholesome grapes,
speaking as to whether they should aim themselves for Earth
or be aiming within somebody’s hungering mouth.
What fate would be most adequate were they to
satisfy and feed the famished others,
or perhaps their desires for freedom
are better suited to desperately flinging themselves
upon the pavement of my skin,
smoothly they will roll aside,
back to where they belong.
They are here by accident,
these living, breathing fruits,
globules of sweetness that many cannot resist,
inside the fruit bowl some of them rest their eyes
somewhat haughtily above other types
for these pieces are displaying more height, position and quality
than the lesser beings,
the lower fruits,
the more common pieces which are quietly required to remain,
unbeknownst to the grapes, these others are there as the safety weights.
And wouldn’t it be nice
if they were able to understand and accept wholly
that this is currently their destiny,
to silently be the front line of the war,
the flung purple bubbles of squeezed crimson,
as they designate their lives to survival, unknown sacrifice, or unspoken safety.
This situation is anything but light-hearted folly.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
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