The Piñata
The Pinata
Effigy of a mule
A pinata hangs low
In the branches a few feet above
Blindfolded children in love
With candy inside of
His flimsy exoskeleton
Each attack fueled
By remorseless ambition
Sighs of relief at each miss
Contrast winces of pain
A stick swings as a pendulum
Into his paper mache ribs,
Wild thoughts enter his brain
His body distorts to cover his flesh
Consciousness drifts
A hammock in autumn
Tragic articles break
Loaves of stale bread
Under his colorful skin
A pain in the neck
A hole in his head
Beside the ones
Made from paint
Fashion to form
A mask in grin
At peace with his Maker
Sweets spill from his trachea
Onto foliage beneath the soles
Of blindfolded kids
He recalls youth
In fleeting moments
Of dwindling existence
No longer confused
With the "Why?"
His gaze gains the sky
PWIV