Pickled Poetry

Ragged edges
on a serrated knife
can cause no harm
unless they meet
your hand.

Knives are harmless. Unless they meet skin. People are harmless. Unless they meet skin. Or so you think. People are harmless unless they meet skin, or unless they meet mind.

Ragged edges
of people’s minds
can cause all harm
even when they never
meet your heart

Dedicated to an ‘office friend’ whose existence ceases for me now that the wings of the phoenix have closed:-)

I wonder if my poetry is so bad that it can become good? Maybe once you slip into a ditch, even the molehill appears huge?

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