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I have eaten all your brothers;
you're the only one that's left.
The last soldier for the slaughter.
Your last moments before death.
I'm a man made in God's image,
You're a nut born in a field.
And the trick to your undoing
is the ***** inside your shield.
So my hand descends from heaven
and it lifts you to the sky.
Then I pull but you hold steady,
you stand firm although I pry.
You have won oh mighty peanut.
'Gainst this beast survival's bleak.
Not from strength did you prevail
But by having nothing weak.
I couldn't open a pistachio and for whatever reason that failure was stuck in my mind. I knew there was something symbolic about it that I needed to explore so I wrote this.
Erik T Blaze
old poet MK
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