Flower in the crannied wall
It’s just like an intellectuallist
to tear creation from its little nest of stone,
thinking only if it rests in his hand,
if he can see all its white veins
will he grasp its mysteries.
Maybe this is why he knows
and God so little.
Who, wanting a lover, seizes it out of life,
and lays its corpse in a tender repose,
trying to fathom the truth of what it means to smile?
The smile the autopsy leaves is no mystery.
A flower in a crannied wall
is a mystery
no more for the taking
Posted March 4, 2020
For Craig’s Flower in the Crannied Wall contest
Copyright © Jack Webster | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment