poem

 Poem #46

The poem is the intimate conversation 

You wish you had with anyone

You ever loved every time 

You ever saw them

Instead of all the mindless prattle

The poem is the deepest, truest connection

The only link between the living and the dead

Between hope and despair

The past and the present

The surrender and the battle

The poem scorns a future 

That tries to kill it 

Every failed relationship, broken friendship,

Inexplicable estrangement is founded

On a fundamental jealousy

A yawning regret that it never became a poem

Or maybe it once was

And stopped

5/22/23