Tom Szymecko

(Chicago, IL)

Onionheads We'Re Not

Poem by Tom Szymecko

How many times do we look askance
afraid to peel the onion layered fears of chance.
but to our amazement -
the stiff skin begins to wrinkle,
weather sag and chafe
lose its obstinate resiliency
and peeling revealing shows
life's spirit begins to roll,
thoughts and feelings move;
Yes, as if by talking over the years
remoteness is removed,
a hint of involvement,
a sneaking sense of will,
and to our surprise
What do we smell
is not the smell of onion,
no, an aroma almost divine,
a smell of roses, clove, or cherry wine,
as if new waves of thought to blossom forth
from thee, from me, and time.

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Read poems about / on: weather, time, life, lost, rose, fear

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003