The poetry
flows
it pours
into crevices
and fills the cracks
in city streets
as nature
reclaims its turf
and pitiful poets
attempt to plea bargain
making a case
for neverending folly of man
and historic storms and floods
seem the punishment
of a wrathful God
that may not even exist
but the poor starstruck poet
leads the case
There’s still hope
There’s still a chance
Pleading to a God
we don’t even believe exists
forgive me one moment
I need to mosey to the bar
maybe muster
a small does of courage
to continue this argument another hour