She

She

Poetry

Ian Critchley

She held a seed, in a
Cupped fist like a
Womb,
And as she slowly decreased
Her grip, the sun
Hit,
And the seed began to sprout
And blossom,
In bloom.

I said, “it reminds me of you,”
And that “once you let the dark
Out,
The light in,
You could flourish.”

But then she crushed it,
In her grip,
She let it
Fall to the dirt and
Asked,
If that was reminiscent of her too.
She cracked a smile and
We laughed,
Knowing,
That all of God’s beauty
Could be destroyed,
By just a few.

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