crisp pearl apples hemorrhage
splashes of walnut wash
the decay dribbles between
my knuckles, silky
as impermanence.
how much of life is spent learning
to let go: recalling to forget
now is not the time for
mastering the art
of holding on.
how many bowls of fruit are rotting
on the wall of a museum?
I love the last line, it really ties together the idea of the poem and is refreshingly original. Great job
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i agree the last line is amazing. the imagery is amazing <3