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The Cooking Pot

Poetry By: Tyrone Slade
Horror


Tags: Horror


Our minds are like a cooking pot, what is in yours?


Submitted:Dec 12, 2006    Reads: 166    Comments: 5    Likes: 2   


I found something satisfying,

Pleasing to my taste,

As I offered some to others,

I found that not all felt the same.

I looked for things more tasty,

Something a bit more pleasing,

Dreaming of the perfect stew,

With the most irresistable of seasonings.

Only the most liked go into this brew,

Full of things that amaze me,

But my desire is to amaze you.

Everytime I gave a taste,

Some enjoyed it, some disliked it,

If it is not perfect, it can't be done,

Why?

I'm not a psychic,

I can't please everyone.

I'm naked, covered in blood,

My hands caked in mud.

Through my window shines,

the fullness of the moon,

I opened a cabinet to put away my spoon,

Thinking I should try something else,

Then I saw new ingredients,

It just appeared on my shelf,

Needless to say I added it,

Convinced,

I could make something good,

It never occured to me,

It might not be healthy,

Or even if I should.

I looked at what I was creating,

It looked vile,

Like a dead monkey,

And a mutant dog that are mating,

Swimming in the after birth,

Of a week old still born child.

It rose out of the pot,

Untill we were at eye level,

I looked to my left,

Where I was getting these ingredients?

That is when I saw the devil,

The laughing, smiling devil.

The cooking pot was my mind,

The satistfying thing was truth,

The stew was cultivation in time,

Evil and deceptions,

Had let this monster loose.





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