Bread of Life
Bread of Life
His name is known all over the world.
Some cheer, some do not.
All will bow in the end.
It is written.
It is true.
I make bread every day now.
I bought a machine to keep up.
I give it away mostly.
Sometimes we laugh and eat…
too much here at the house.
We are going to be fat.
We are happy. (and thankful)
People think that I am crazy.
That is okay.
Have you ever tasted fresh bread?
The kind that you smell before you ever,
get near the kitchen?
That is the smell of Church on Sunday.
That is the smell of Grandma’s perfume.
It is also the smell of my mom.
She is gone. Cancer took her.
It is the new smell of babies, (once changed hehe)
It is rub when you are sick… (best by mom)
That is why I make bread every day now.
We need to remember, “what fresh daily means”.
Love is like that…bread.
Shared.
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.
