A Soul in Pain — a poem
Published in
1 min readOct 4, 2019
A semolina eye, held proud
Within its puffed-up pouch
A bold and ripening thing, viscous
Weeping in the day’s light
I saw it from a distance first
Could see your head was hurt
Crossed by to see close up
This plum where his elbow caught
You say you fell, got hurt, but I
Know this game of course
Your father to your mother taught
A tributary from head to heart
It travels by canoe for two
Pumps itself straight into you
A sybarite’s excess, a shame
Transferred, while you fall apart
© simon heathcote
