Poem: The Word Made Flesh

The Word Made Flesh

In the beginning
was the word,
and the word was made
into flesh.
But then the meaning
of the word
hit puberty and
had a shift.
It started sprouting
curly hair
in awkward places,
its voice slipped.
Soon it’d be turning
into a
compound work that twain’d
be one flesh.
Then, in the ending,
the word was
abbreviated,
and it diminished.
And, barely breathing,
said farewell
and then let out its
final breath.

---