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it gets tougher
by Charlie Morganthe jaws of the door creak shut;
one more soul in the devil's soup.
clawing fingers nimbly pry the lid.
steam perculates the boiling broth
until it becomes a frenzied menudo;
victuals made from entrails.
all is the process of life and death;
the journey: a lonesome one, saluting
all the flowers on the side of the path.
and looking ahead at the thick copse
of bois d' arcs, tough-skinned; await.
valiant defenders to freedom.
arrival time TBA, to be announced
at a later time, date and place.
wrinkled skin & watery eyes: life. 06/10/2008 Posted on 06/10/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 06/10/08 at 05:12 PM Another great one Chas! It is amazing how some grow and never feel lonely while those who write the all consuming tell all words constantly feel that loneliness even in the most crowded rooms. Well done! |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 06/10/08 at 05:13 PM Life and death - two companions that will never meet in the same person at once. Incredible description here of the neverending cycle. |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 06/10/08 at 07:15 PM I don't know. Is it because we write that we feel alone despite the proximity of others? Today I feel accutely alone...and I smell the entrails. Vivid write, Charlie. Vivid. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 06/12/08 at 05:50 AM You eviscerate my complacency, cook life, and spice its soup right before our eyes and ears - right under our noses. You word chef, you. A beaut, Chaz. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 06/17/08 at 02:29 PM Much in the cauldron here - I love the first two stanzas - creepy and soupy and a fine mix of feelings you've created in me - stirring, as it were. (oh, sheesh... ;) ) |
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