Pomegranate
Arid, bony-shanked carapace.
Shiny, weathered patina
tells of desolation,
Belies any promise of richness;
Yet when inverted,
Becoming regal.
A tatty, crown implies
The ancient purport.
Tough, yet easily-torn in avarice.
Revealing, inner passion
Shrieks fecundity and blood,
Gleams with shiny liveliness;
Yet when sundered,
Serried jewels.
A secret, inner-order shows
The abundant warrant.
Red, a study of translucence.
Deep-hued, each perfect gem
Fades to stalk-umbilicus,
Foretells the unborn orchard;
Yet when amassed,
Bitter-sweet.
A fruitful sumptuousness gives life
The noble pomme grenate.
Copyright © Bray Holt | Year Posted 2023
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