Monday, 18 April 2011

day/poem 18

-- the world on a plate --

her hands span from the horizon to forever
and the lines that etch age on her face
speak of the wisdom of the ancients
whose lineage she continues
dry hands that can never quite be salved
by the softness of petroleum jelly nor ulay's finest
and grey hairs, each strand a thousand worries
take precedence, each day advancing
no mercy on darker tresses that once held sway

she would give us the world
if only we knew how to accept
but our hearts can never stretch that wide
we are not made to accept that particular dish

instead strike out our own paths
prefer to learn from mistakes that have been made
since time began
which foolishly we claim
as our own

and when we see our own offspring
diving headlong into the error of their ways
not even that offer
will be enough to hold them back
from doing as has always been done
and likely always will be


  1. love the pictures and the truth this conjures up

  2. thanks Lil - i guess it's just one of those stories that will repeat itself over and over...