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Poem

Poetry on trial?

I’m going to indict poetry, for infecting my soul
Does it serve any purpose, or has it lost control 
This may seem quiet strange, perhaps unorthodox 
Peruse this if you will, whilst it’s head layeth on the block 

No need for a foundation, build it in the clouds
But it does require structure, interwoven by shrouds
Mocks me with Humpty Dumpty, as my life falls to bits 
Sends me down a path, of bifurcation and twists.

Yes poetry is stealthy, it attacks from every side 
Attempting to outflank you, then pounces in surprise 
Soon levity returns, it wants to chill you out
Where did this come from, shaketh your head in doubt.

Bow before it in deference, or leap into the sky
Cut to pieces on razor wire, see the birds that flyeth by
Pit Romeo and Lothario, in a competition of charms
Find a new born baby, dead in its mother’s arms.

Send shivers down ones spine,  Hairs stand on your neck
Deal out a winning hand, then rearrange the deck
Be a photon of light, amongst trillions on our sun,
Reminisce ole times, when life beheld such fun.

Be scarred by it’s violence, Drawn into the mystique,
Blown away by the punchline, The havoc it can wreak
Drown in melancholy, or bathe in its delight 
Overcome tragic heartbreak, awestruck by it’s might.

Empathize with the poor, in their cornucopia of dirt, 
Curse the wealthy no better, in their hubris of self-worth,
Surrounded by loved ones, on your terminal breath, 
Then Cryo-frozen in a machine, trying to forgo death.

So yes I’ve tried poetry, it was given a fair trial
Now to pass sentence, and do so, with some style 
I condemn it to life, with no chance of parole 
Simultaneously I grant pardon, for it’s me who lost control. 

By
David Kavanagh

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