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Rated: E · Poetry · Food/Cooking · #2078812
This was a short poem for a cookbook.
Food may rule your civil mind,
consuming much beloved time.
Minutes curl and fall away
then slowly drift towards decay.

A constant hunger always lurks,
deep within it slowly jerks
your attention to its lust
crawls like subducted mantle crust.

What keeps you sane can never fill
or be pressed into a pill.
There's no relief in there my friend
and cracking wheat makes slaves of men.

But alas there's hope for icing drips
along the breadth of powdered lips.
Beneath this feast a secret's hidden;
no flavor chained or taste forbidden.

So cheat my friends! Be charmed and full!
Eat yourself to death or at least until
you've had the chance to take a look
at at all the goods within my book.

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