The Mouth of Meaning Poem, by The Skeptic, at My poetic side

I swallowed a question,

I felt it move like a second heartbeat.

It had teeth.

II.

I asked god why

we were made,

He pointed,

at the meat between my teeth.

I had forgotten I was eating myself.

III.

The horizon opens it’s mouth,

Birds mistake it for instruction,

Trees mistake it for permission,

We mistake it for hope.

IV.

We spend our lifes,

building mouths,

large enough to swallow the universe,

then die,

before tasting anything.

Perhaps that’s what life is.

A wound inventing a reason,

to remain open.

Comments +

sorenbarrett August 17th, 2026 04:08
Creative, this poem sees life as a wound open and raw. One can feel such wounds if suffering is our purpose. A thought provoking write.
Thomas W Case August 23rd, 2026 07:22
There’s a damn unsettling intelligence running through this, especially the recurring imagery of mouths, teeth, hunger, and consumption. “I had forgotten I was eating myself” is viciously good, and the final line leaves the whole poem hanging open like the wound it describes.

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The Mouth of Meaning