Breaking The Vine - Poem by Slacker D.P.
Past her grape-ish years-
She stands a raisin under the Indian sun,
Still so sweet yet far past ripeness,
Waiting for the starry sky stolen
By advertisements all her life-
Listening to her crops play
in the cinnamon breeze.
Memories that whisper in her
Times when she still hung from the vine-
An arrows enrichment and growth,
Plucking her lips from the vine
With such divine timing.
From the wound poured juice,
Endless and a flow through her veins,
Wine upon her loves lips-
Drunk on each others existence-
For a time,
Even detached she grew to a blossom-
As potency increased so did distance,
Listless loves must die and without a tear
They parted with loves and goodbyes-
She had flowed and flowed forever on.
And grown and grown forever on,
‘Till this starry night where she lives their dream-
And breathes the last of it.
She sleeps a grape under the Indian night,
Reminded of where a growth began,
Thinking “goodnight” to where her growth
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