Sandwich

This poem used to look like a sandwich...stupid blog...

Life is like a sandwich.
Sometimes you eat the sandwich,
And sometimes the sandwich eats you.
Multifaceted like the juicy red and crisp
Green is life, yet the layers seem less
Distinguishable than that of a sandwich.

Sometimes sandwiches become soggy,
Weighed down by tomato tears. Defenses
On supposed impermeable layers have failed.
The Brie is left to mold, the meat to go sour,
Donning the repugnant smell of
Something gone a rye.
But even the vilest creation could satisfy the mouth of a hungry pig waiting on a free meal.
The cycle of life is evident, in that
Pigs eat sandwiches, and we eat pigs on
Our sandwiches. Life can still be a cruel joke,
Even when refrigerated properly. Life can become
Complicated when we cross contaminate society’s raw
Pig juices with our own soft, bread like brains. We can forget
To wash our cutting boards each day, and start anew.

But just as in life, one true sandwich does not exist.
Mary on a grilled cheese just doesn’t seem
To satisfy one’s thirst for divine knowledge or
Everlasting life. Maybe a miracle of turning
Bread to stone can be preformed with the
Aid of a microwave, thus proving that
The invisible forces do exist.