You told me to be grateful,
but my mind’s eye
saw only shredded cheese
atop a flat pan bread
doomed to ripen
in the oven’s hellish heat.
You told me to be grateful,
as the corpus turned to slivers
sliced to be shared
among looming vultures.
You told me to be grateful,
— of what? — I asked.
Life as you know it… mine’s at odds.
Sailing through sighing sands,
invisible footprints left to find
by neither friend nor foe
as ghosts can not be traced
among the shadows
— of spectres.
Singing the Song of One
in the void joining minds,
a blessing of the Chef
needing no recognition —
Only a voice-over tuned
to the narrative misgivings
Of a life in need — of gratitude.