The Word
The word,
But spoken,
Even broken,
It’s heard.
It’s a soup stirred,
A flavored token,
Even when woken.
It’s blurred.
It comes through me through you,
Touched by our blessings in a day,
It simply just passes through.
It sets you well on your way.
The word is your physical suture,
Mending you for an awesome future!
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.
