Bubble

Bubble

Frozen moments in time

Reach liquid form combusting

They explode into the present

With scents and senses reeling

A thread is ripped from time and space

It pulls the pattern out of weave

The slightest breeze untangles it all

And forces us to believe

In higher powers that control our lives

In fates and presence foreboding

To doubt is to no longer be alive

The past is fast eroding

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Bread Alone

The bread at the feast

Never gets the credit

Always there, warm and ready

Slightly soft, crusty on the outside

Ready to mop up the leftovers

No one ever sits down

For a meal of bread alone

Ripped open

Hot, steaming

Torn, it’s never the same

Shared, it’s always better

But it never

Stands

On its own

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