American Desert: on spiny things in harsh environs.
It is not your fault that you always have to run.
It's just that you are far too kind and soft, soft, soft-
And this place is made for harder ones;
Only cacti thrive in the harsh Desert sun.
Cacti leading with prickly little points,
Their needy needles prickly, pricking.
Green arms reaching for a steel blue sky in surrender,
But do not approach this clever pretender.
You should not hug a cactus, (you can, but
you'll get hurt), you cannot kiss it's spiny rind,
You can only give your all, while it takes, takes, takes,
Growing till it chokes out its nurse tree for being so kind.
He killed her, greedily drinking up her water and light,
And he will likewise steal your sweet shine.
This Desert is full of tricky cacti with sharp lines.
They occasionally flower, laurel crowns of white,
But each only open once, and timid hiding from the light,
Make a feast for bats, and other creatures of the night.
Darling Pincushion run, leave nothing behind,
While the fire in your heart still burns from the pine,
Go back to California's gentle sun and salty air,
This Desert is hostile, and she's got pricks to spare.
@ellowrites @elloart @elloblog @ello @ellodesign @ellopoetry @apoem_4u
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