If There Was No Poetry

if there was no poetry then what would become of my fledgling thoughts unbaked as they are raw this mish-mash of words words words words I’ve barely stirred i have made them presentable readied them to be penned they all wait proudly showing their finest how versatile they can be wanting to be chosen metaphors so clever phrases perfectly turned runes waiting for attribution clichés anticipating new life would my gift for schtick never get the chance to evoke the laughs I so crave oh! what a terrible curse to have my pen stilled where would I put the clatter in my head if not into poetry each precious word a chick nudged from its nest all my babies: some fly, some fall flat splat! i am mother to these fledglings watchful, hopeful, shaping them helping them fulfill their potential and when they take flight avoiding the fate of Icarus they save me for a moment they save me from the madness of the world