Thursday, November 16, 2023

Thorns, Sonnet #615
















They pierce a clear blue sky

And tear it to tatters.

Blind or with open eyes,

If I know what matters,

I can thrust my fingers

In and leave blood and flesh.

Yet starlings can linger,

Safe in its lethal mesh.

The question is why thorns?

They can protect a rose.

The bull charges its horns.

But why such a tree grows

Long and fearsome spindles

Pierces us with symbols.

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