Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

The smell of youth, over the breakfast table.

Submitted:Mar 4, 2008    Reads: 107    Comments: 6    Likes: 4   

The morning butter


The toast of life

still warm

Moments become liquid

slip from the sharp surface

As we exit youth

and the flour goes stale

We look to bake our

own yeast

Proud to exhibit

racks of toast in silver holders

Knowing they to will fall stale

and seek the recipe to reproduce

Moments remain solid

stranded upon the dry surface

I remember still

the fragrance of breakfast

Not just a memory

a treasure I hold deep inside

Moments again become liquid

slipping once again from the sharp surface


| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.