Poetry is not meant to be anything
other than what you read. Mood
or mantra, independent conscious
behavior, a distraction, unexpected
reality and unknown salvation.
What do you expect in this world
of heartbreak and happenstance?
How will you see beyond current
tragedy or circumstance? Always
there are questions. Inquisitions.
Interrogations. Stale blood on the
sidewalk, fresh tears on the cheek
of a passerby; our response is not
immediate. Our actions muted by
culpable noise and utter silence.
Poetry is as passive as it is reactive.
You may know where you are going,
yet a poem will tell you where you
have been. What do you hear?