Stepping out of my comfort zone and onto a path less traveled. Poetry, a contest, and a surprisingly personal spot of writing.
The Offering
Hollow gourd.
Barren supplicant.
Ropes of pulp,
Stringy and sodden.
Bold stench.
The odor of earth,
moss-like, moldy.
Dull and sweet.
The cycle of yearning.
Hope.
Despair.
No Harvest this year.
Arms outstretched,
Muscles strain.
Salty, sharp sweat.
The offering made.