Cut open a pomegranate.
You see the red, fleshy,
skin-tight surface?
It’s like a community,
appearance to the masses–
even to the outsider within.
Now, cut inside
the dark, pink center–
see the juice run out?
It is the outcome of communication,
tied over from months of ripening,
passing time ripped open
with the slice of a knife
And then, of course,
there are the seeds.
They made this fruit, didn’t they?
Like each individual member
of a group domain fighting
for the leading role, a new
plant to form
yet once the first is turned over,
honey, there is no differentiating
between those seeds– in, out.
There is only room for flesh and blood.
June 4, 2014
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