Scorching Hot

I’ve closed
An open burner
Because flames
Are always jealous
Of those chefs
Who cook inspired
By what faith
Remains so cool,

Even under
Heavy heat
Or those lies
Which keep us guessing
Whose expression
Says it better
Felt with meaning
Much more pure –

Always real
Despite man’s needs
For this flesh
Still being nourished
Begging truth
And taste substantial 
Where cuisine
Becomes our hearts,

Held inside
These stomachs raw
Now ingested
Like we’ve waited
For that special love
God promised
On His table
Breaking bread.

Yet some stoves
Ignite from dreams
Boiling wishes
Once unnoticed
As they seethe
Without attentions
Left neglected
Till things waste,

Making smoke
When ovens burst
Hearing whistles
Loudly wailing
Over reasons
Turned to cinders
Finding life
Has no alarm.

Forgive skeptics’
Charred remains
Among wordplay
Lacking beauty
Knowing phrases
Melt disaster
If implying
Blazes work,

Torching lines
Good food ignores
Only pleased
While savoring talents
Atop tongues
Such sweetness lingers
Chewing prayer
Alongside art.

  • J. Pigno

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