Poetry is like Jesus
was once...
It was a daily conviction,
like rice is to Asians,
It was a birthright,
like chopsticks.
No faith's demised -
just a reshuffling of definitions!
And burgeoned from the blackhole.
Too spooky for the House of Commons,
so I kept my silence.
(Creamy isn't white once you meet the Toilet Paper).
I rather realized it was futile
and now, irrelevant
except to a few wannabes
myself included.
(How superficial -
Art must be for Art's sake,)
Therefore, forgotten
and words left me.
Necessity put me back to This.
But now, a passion so contrived,
imagination imagined.
Just a goofy thought and messy letters,
Verses eloped with my innocence.