The Fork

Concrete beneath your feet
as you blaze your trail
along the road to your grave;
covered in blood and tears
shadowed by gray smoke
heaving light upon your pain

At the fork between the tines
the crow sits watching
Wings clipped; unable to soar
above the path, blind to your truth
The stars swirl in anticipation
trees quiet; dripping, raw, waiting

The fork is sharp and powerful
Tines that lift supper to your soul
or puncture your heart scarring
forever what will or could have been
The forks all lead to the path’s end
only the trip is defining and different

The fork has direction on each side
You have the power to choose
All tines lead to your grave
Only the choice stands between you
and what is written on your life;
what is remembered after your death

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PeanuttyO

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I am so glad you are here. Please make yourself at home, here, next to the arm-chair. Let us talk of poetry and life; let us laugh and crack jokes; let us rule the world with our lofty thoughts and electrodes for those out of line.Most likely I will pee a little when we laugh, and my thoughts are usually random rather than lofty, but you know what they say: “The dog of the exceptional wisdom has the bird of sleeping monkeys in his dreams!”Anyway, I was talking to a guy the other day who was high on pot (he was standing on the toilet) and I mentioned my fear of bush hogs and roaches. He comforted me and then asked why I was in the stall with him.So there you go, my full life story nowhere on this page. I feel like we know each other so much better now. Sometimes I’m serious, sometimes I seriously funny, sometimes I’m seriously gassy. I am at all times grateful for your support.If you have an idea to share, or just want to drop a line, you can contact me at peanuttyoh@yahoo.comBe excellent to each other and glitter on glitterbombs.
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Preeti
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Drawing an analogy of the choices in our lives with a fork….wonderful!

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