Poem (untitled)
What can a poet write to change the world
other than
an image in the mind
Words painting pictures along an empty line
revealing a
perspective never seen
The poet’s sense of time and space spared
a new
dimension exposed to the heart
Like a painter’s work on the gallery walls
the poem is
laid bare to read
That image in the mind of the poet exposed
changes the
world of the reader one poem at a time
trumped up god
trumped up god of choice
your choice oh so perfect
housed in your perfect world
so idyllic and picturesque
sandy resort beaches
plush fields of ripe vineyards
snow-capped mountains of the rich
dress up your god
in a finely pressed tuxedo
crystal laden chandelier
adorning your multi-million cathedral
your perfect god awaits
in your so perfect world
yet oh how imperfect this world is
the ghettos and slums claim so many
the prostitutes cling to one last trick
from the vein-dotted line hangs a rusty needle
no trumped up god here
only the real god of the real people
living hour to hour on a sliver of hope
found in the ones making the streets
the only real house of worship
No comments:
Post a Comment