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Poetry
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To Poetry! Long-nested works are hatched within a poets mind,
Nuance and connotation feed these hatchlings
Of his unique experience,
Minced through meshes
Of inescapable personal bias.
But he cannot control them, once on the wing.
They settle where chance takes them.
Sometimes, indeed they fly forever,
Into an echoless void and out of existence.
Sometimes, though, they nest;
And when they do,
Become immigrants in another's mind.
Their songs, their twitters and chirps,
are filtered through a new receiver,
Framed of another's experience and bent.
They do not home.
Once fled, they are caged singers to other ears,
Their song mingled with those already sounding there.
The poet who labored in his quest for le juste mot,
The perfect key and rhythm of his thought,
May sometime hear a strange voice
Lilting a fragment of song and think,
That sounds familiar
I've heard something like that,
Somewhere,
Sometime.
