Eternity's Cookware
I went forward into obscurity
For the same reasons most
People enter their finality
Everything is behind in life
Rotting pears collecting wasps
Memory isn't pleasing anymore
Photos have all been seen
All that's wanted is the blank
It is not controlling depression
It is not a repetitive mind
Simply put its the metal bowl
Struck with a handy can opener
That sounds a ring of a bell
From a monastery overseas
The monks gathering in a hall
The bowl echoes with itself
Of countless loaves of bread
Meatloaves filled with oats
Bits of onions spilling outward
Timelessness as it strikes
The hour of a last supper
Drink up and taste the dirt
Eternity cooks your universe
Barry G. Wick
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment