Red acorns

• Seth Hasin-bromley, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2005

Red acorns grow,
The crimson flower grows,
Hot red petals, they unfold,
Over skin already cold.
Drowning in a sunset sea,
Red acorns flow by me,
Rose tinted waters seep through,
Fingers so unpredictable.
Red acorns they make patterns,
Falling upon sodden lands,
Bloody flowers slowly open,
Their warmth already taken.
Red acorns build a lake,
A liquid thick and dark,
Dried up veins are vacant,
Useless as the empty heart.