Why would anyone want to write a poem?
What is writing anyway? Crude self thought?
And that picky meter stuff, all for naught.
Do people really talk like that? Ah hum,
Upon the lilt of dawn I see a page
And if I put some words there on the lines
I’ll soon enough seek rhymes with wild designs
But still for all that ink it’s just a cage!
You see? Mere words can not give meaning to
This mark of pen or type. So what’s the use?
No matter, more employs the soul, set loose
Beyond spirit’s mortal grasp, free pursue,
Our heart’s honest candour, jealous desire,
To catch another’s eye and share the fire!