Of a Living Poetry

If you, are against rules, It isn’t necessarily a sign of immaturity. Rather, disregard for lessons learned, left by ancients to posterity. Poetry is a living balm, with immense power. Changing by the hour. It is what you make of it, being one of many, expressing freely your form, thought, or deed worth remembering. Do you like Haiku, then write Haiku. But write to preserve heritage and soul. Not to intentionally weave your mind and fingers into it’s history not yet birthed. Change will come in its own time. Each contemplation of the most tiny morsel ekes change and morph, degree by degree. Stay within the norm. Cross your t’s and dot the eyes. Soon enough! That time will come when no matter how hard you try, you can’t make your point from within the box. You will have to go outside your bounds and when you do hands will clap and thunder roll in admiration. We can’t stop it, nor should we want it ever to be the same tomorrow. Rotting stagnant with bygone meaning and innuendo, gathering moss on words no longer germane, now not living. © Jun 15 2010 Charles Henderson