By Karl Kliparchuk
The world is a meat grinder.
We are born, made of stuff
from the past. Recycled people,
pigs, chickens, beans, rice.
The past becomes us. Our ancestors
once walked, breathed the air
we enjoy, but we cannot hear
their voices, know their joys.
Their voices have decayed
like their bodies into dust.
Dust that doesn’t know
that it had a past or will have
a future. A future
that has you, me, and cats.
I wish that some of the past
rubs off- on me and a trickle
of my thoughts, poetic writings,
musings can carry on
as life as a meat grinder
is a hopeless thought.
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Karl Kliparchuk is a wine writer and a retired teacher living in Burnaby, BC. His poems were published by winecellarpress.com, academyoftheheartandmind, Burnaby Stridefest 2022/23/24, Wingless Dreamer Publisher, Silk Road Poetry Blog, and more.