The Pot

All days in my home, I leave the doors open O people! And I let your affections in And all your feeble mortalities At nights, I mingle my day's harvest in a pot A mixture softer than those sweet loves of yours A mixture harsher than those fated deaths of yours Then I probe the alloy and cast it into words Did you recognize your lost lover in that word of mine? Did you see the face of your death angel in the other?

29 Jul 2021