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
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