Alphabet Soup
Alphabet soup
. for public domain
A freshly polished silver spoon easily whirls
warm pasta letters in a China bowl,
while Poetry struggles meagerly
to stir his spirit, enrich his soul.
He rather would want for food than words,
a rhyme, a sweet line, or a symbolic enthymeme,
while Language recedes from this aging mind,
with little to forage, little to find.
Muses are eternal souls, fit for better
than tired, aging flesh bent over soup bowls.
So the Spirits fly the coop, so to say,
and leave him on his own to droop
over mysterious letters in his alphabet soup
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
