It's a Mystery To Me

It's mystery, just fantasy, That reader's "take" on any rhyme Should supersede the poet's time, The vision that he bleeds to pen, Not set aside by mortal men, That's hubris (without courtesy)! A muse possesses phantom's depth! Most haikus failures, beggar art, Joke reader's thoughts play any part; The fire that blazes, author's own, His crime is that he can't atone Or know a poem's aftermath. And would you claim to know the truth Of Bible verse without context, Each sinner kneels to false pretext! Who listens to their Master's voice? In ignorance, there is no choice, None expiate their human ruth. If God exists, His truth is real! Who flirts with ambiguity, Or builds on sand, a fool you see! Give poems birth and share your heart, Life's ripples shouldn't make us tart, Let poetry be all we feel! Brian Johnston March 2, 2018