I hew my heart of heartache
Like pulp from the rind
The juicy amalgamation bittersweet
Running waters across my fingers
And through them
In its place is a silver chalice
Polished to frigid shine
Until the noonday warms it
Or sunshine pierce it
It is untouched and holy
Ringing true only to itself


Author: redgladiola

Creative writer happily predisposed to flights of fancy. You can find my poetry and short prose at

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