Leftover Poetry Soup, Part IV
I like leftovers, especially when it comes to soup.
Brought back by popular demand.
They say that soup is better after it sits for a few days.
Stewing in its juices, mixing time with truths.
Reading poems by Famous Chefs
I hope one day I too become.
May we never turn to dust.
Mixing ashes with concrete
And placed under the City of Angels.
Only to be rediscovered at a later date.
Dinos of the past with something to say about avoiding
Extinction. But if we are gone by, by then,
May the next evolved lifeform translate them
With as much curiosity as when they were written.
Petrified words in stone. And if I am to reincarnate,
Perhaps as one of them, I will reread my poems once again.
Though I will have forgotten they were mine.
Just as it should be. So as to get another fresh start to be inspired.
And so, I can reread yours too.
Once again with new eyes, new taste buds and a new mind.
Don’t mind me for daydreaming
For this life is but a dream within a dream.
I even like making soup in my sleep, only to eat them
As leftovers when I awake.
Join me there, if you dare
We’ll fly over rainbows. We’ll dance in the kitchen.
Taste sunrises and chew on sunsets.
With aprons on and mixing spoons in our hands
We'll swirl the Universe into soup
That even God would enjoy to partake in.
Manna for the lost and weary soul.
For you are the Art that never ends ...
For you, who understand my meaning.
So, I thank you for your creativity.
And you’ll always be welcome to my mixed up crazy
Brave new world that never ends ...
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