Prospector
I wonder often
what do you do with them,
the many jewels mined
from my rankled mind.
Jagged edged gems scraping,
my brain further chafing
as you unearth each disturbing bauble.
I wonder often
if your excavation
reveals some personal fruit
or some prized, torture bred treasure.
What do you do
with your collection of stone and marl?
Do you display your torment born trinkets?
Do they sit in your studio, up high
on a laminated shelf and buffed
to painstaking perfection,
reflecting the light of your merciless labor
Herr lover’s pride and joy?
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