I love this poem. You give excellent advice. I'm picturing the brain as a handful of blackberries, gradually being picked over by the birds. If we're wise, we'll use what's left before it's too late. I also see spiritual undertones, with youth running toward what's "rotten" (making bad decisions). Each of us has experienced his/her own personal fall from God --- or maybe many falls.Then there's the possibility that you're referring to a person's wild, carefree spirit, with "responsibility" being the birds that pick away at a person's blackberry soul.Now I've read it again, and I see a dead body being decomposed by nature.
"a little flesh for the thorns is fair" - with blackberries, as with life.....good one, Kelli.
Perfection. I wish I wrote this. It's in my style. I feel the blood of both the hands and the berries.
Delightful reach into harvest despite payments to thorns and The Fall itself.
Love it, "Emily". ;-)
So many ways to "travel" with this poem. You've got a way with words that just thrills me.
yep. nice observation, MZ. this one may stay in my brain for a while.
Reach deep for the sweetest fruit- how true!
I love that you didn't name the fruit anywhere else, other than the title. The description itself carried the full weight of identification. Blackberries do not grow wild here as they do in the Northern Hemisphere, so this is a pastime I have always envied - blackberry picking.
I remember wild blackberries on the coast of British Columbia...I was never sure they were worth the scratches, but my mother insisted. Later, eating them, I agreed that she was right.K
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