simmered

when our words turn into food
the homeless serve the children
and the moon match the sun for seconds of fun
we disguise language arts between the cracks of our
sidewalks
and everyday people exhibit civilization

no despite
no in spite
no spite

If our words could turn into food
I’d promise you a garden.

nikki skies copyright 2014

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2 thoughts on “simmered”

  1. This poem speaks volumes, “If our words could turn into food, I promise you a garden”. Love It!

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