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
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