I know my onions

Life defined

by many onions

peeled, cried,

managing to perfect each

without the other.

Skins, layers,

thick and thin

slashed, cut through

'til empty handed,

but crimson eyed.

Poetry by shells
Read 594 times
Written on 2012-03-04 at 00:57

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Nils Teodor The PoetBay support member heart!
Well written
and profound
Thanks for sharing

I guess if you don't cry sometimes you haven't really lived, but it would be awfully nice to skip the crying part.

I really like the layers of meaning (like the skins of the onion) of this poem. Like a lot of Emily Dickinson's poems, it's short and seemingly simple, but invites several readings. Also, perfect title. Good job.