Without poetry, we’d all
be chained to fences of time.
locked in,
torn apart,
played with by the
cosmic dance.
Don’t get me wrong,
the poems can’t
cure cancer, or heal the
lame dog’s leg.
But, they might give
the whores hope, and the
hobos a home.
Poetry tricks the mind
into seeing things,
like woolfhounds with
bagpipes playing an
Irish jig, far away from
the ferryman and his ride
across the river.
Without poetry, about now,
my skull
would be a home for beetles
and worms, turning
ever so slowly into
dust.








I like your outlook on how life would be without poetry.
Thank you.
Oh so true sire. Perfect in every word.
Thanks.
Cleverly penned, Thomas. Incredible read my friend, very cerebral. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks, my friend.
I’m with you on this.
Perfection as usual, Thomas.
You are too kind. Thanks.