Poetry On Trial

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