What If – Ghazal Poem by Christopher J. Grasso

The scorpion that dances is not sterile and kills itself
Its tale curdles into a spiral even when into itself

On this particular day, the flames erupt the angered ground
The ground be no hotter than the poison as the scorpion stings itself

Its blood, a myriad of fire, bubbling out from the destruction done
Its claws rise to the sky provoked, tossing up the suicide of itself

The crust of reincarnation might give this creature another chance
The cruelty of existence shrugs off the death of life itself

As easily as Christ could by mistake trudge on the death of this vermin
Then human events of this world would be altered, the scorpion did not kill itself