Poem ~ Eyes on Venice (The Beast Within: 13th Anniversary Edition)

Life is here,
the time is now.
The milk for cheese comes from the cow.
But it must age,
as so must we…
So that we may keep climbing up life’s rough tree.

Hands together and hands apart;
so far away but always close to my heart.

Eyes on Venice,
hearts that Rome,
Where is it that anyone truly calls home…
Spoiled, rotten,
cheese is mold…

A tale to tell of broken hearts.
Penicillin gives a healing start.
Even when hearts still bleed.

So do not protest,
it shall be in vein.
For the healing has come;
wasting medicine would be a shame.

Poetry ~ Laying on Cotton and Foam

Contemplating, resting spot.
Pillow made of Gouda…

Seams to rip spaghetti strings from my cranium.
Since I felt everything, I told them.

Awash with cookies and empty containers of crème.
Diamond glass heart of cheese.

Centered, I used to feel mozzarella.
Sadly, those days left when she did.

Easily broken peace; lost & grating
Marble and Gorgonzola, sliced with care.

String broke again weakness of green.
Without climate control.
These actions, These feelings.

Mold.

So I tore off before you could retrieve me.
Too close, I ran from mighty cheese.

Fermenting without purpose in unknown cave.

What will I become? Will I be gruyère or the grave?
Maybe just rind, garbage.
Nothing to be save.