Poem for a sausage

Your two ends teach me life,
Decisions should not stress me
Any direction is equal
And choosing is just moving on with life.
Shout in the middle of your sausage
Step up,
Look around
breath
with a nice drink in your hand,
Orient yourself randomly,
Start moving
Whatever you decide
Your end will be delicious.

Scooped on an everyday basis

The sheet lands on the floor confident
And crashes my plans of disruption.
I was at the border of what is known,
I thought I jumped resolutely forward
For all of us.
I am now in the crowd again
Silent for a moment,
While the tank of curiosity refills.

Your Diary, Your Version

In a few instances the poem is your hand.

You show the play,

You teach the actors,

Your script holds for history.

Your diary in the pocket,

Your labbook on the desk,

Your files in the cloud ☁,

Are the characters and humorists telling your version,

Speaking your life.

Remember them on the journey,

Feed them accuracy,

Hold them by hand.

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