Knife

Sharp little brother
    clings to my side
Gives me the courage
    I wouldn't ordinarily have.
When beast I receive,
    He gives me the meat.
When plant I crave,
    He presents me the treat.
I must be careful to hold his hand
    lest his quick tongue lick me.
I must always understand the thin straight power held in hand
    that could take Life with quick slit, slice, slash of gash.
Quiet little friend, silent little fiend,
    may always I know the comfort you bring.

Reviews

this made me smirk a bit- I was excited reading this, haha.
I'm a cook, and I have a love-hate relationship with my knives.

[John T. Miller]

i agree! makes me wish i was camping...

[ettorney]

Hmmm. I think I like it. I'm not so sure nd that usually does not happen to me. Normally I am certain if I appreciate a poem or not. Hmmmmm

Okay I like it. It is a smart metaphor for the sharp knife in all of us.

Try replacing receive with desire. See how that works for you.

nice write.

[Kat Plunkett]

wow this is 1852090320684783046 percent of pure awesomeness. great job :)

[Smith So Soon]

I like how the title tells what the object is, but the poem doesn't have to. Very descriptive and in-depth.

[Kasey Jones]

I really like the wording in this poem. And the title fits. It has just the right amount of drama.