Cold Poetry Soup, Part III

I prefer my soup hot and fresh. But sometimes I like to change it up With something cold, like Gazpacho. It's still best fresh but still good when cured. But when it spoils, it's just nasty and discarded. Poetry never spoils. Timeless and immortal. Ageless. And enjoyed for generations to come ... Unique in its own right. Sharing is essential ... Dipping our domain into the melting pot. It takes a Master Chef to get it just right. Though neophytes can surprise us all sometimes With their freshness and unexpected recipes. Poetry never stagnates and still good when served cold. Rhyme and rhythm, metaphors and motifs, Lyrics and free verse ... nothing is exempted When it comes to the ingredients of words. However, sometimes I just want to scream and swear at the world With all its unfairness and atrocities. I keep those to myself when sharing is just too inappropriate and offensive. Locked away in my time vault, recipes for another age When people can stomach and tolerate the Mad scientist in me. Don't get me wrong, challenging wrongness Still needs to make up for when people make bad soup. Trying to poison us all with their agendas. Unflavorfully pushing their tasteless menus. This venue allows for inspiration and enlightenment ... An Art that defies every "Modern Age." So, I thank you for letting me into your dining rooms. And with an "All are Welcome" mat in front of mine, You'll always be welcome ... in my home, A restaurant at THE END of the Universe.