Olives
Small oval pieces
Soft in their stem
Stone in their core
They draw with them essence
A sense of presence
They yearn to be opened
And then to be born
Torn from their shelter
An acorn in clouds
They ask me to feed
They turn on my instinct
They turn to my vigor
They free their own splendor
They fall without trickles
Tarnished in soul
I am but a carrier
Consuming the flesh
Feeding the seed
Their ravishing death
Clusters of cannibals
Breathing consumed
The olives are green
Their meaning, Their doom |