XIV

Here I'm in the celebration of life;
counting out syllables for this sonnet,
thinking this is turning like a sharp knife
at the bone, I hack to feast upon it.
As I open yet another quatrain,
peeling back the meat of my memories,
definitely going against the grain
yet sensing a oneness as salt in seas.
It's here that I happen to realize
the beauty of a cut, deep in the mind,
when articulated as with new eyes,
will foster growth letting new life to pine.
I wonder in words where it all will lead
and to think, never did I even bleed.