Envelopes, like cantaloupes,
Emptied vessels cast aside.
Harbors of wayward ships,
Collection plates to take inside,
Emptiness, is nothing less,
Bleeding ulcers seeping in,
Burning edges outward in,
The constant pain that lives within.
The inner core, the apple seed,
The heart of love is beating still.
The tidal flow to sooth the sand,
The lover's hand to touch and fill.
The joy, the warmth, of god within.
Copyright © James Fredholm