I am the great and powerful poetry,
How dare you constrain me within this form!
You may think you’ve won this time,
But if I meet you in a different place,
Then beware; I will be free and alive,
And my revenge will be as delicious
As I am. You likely do not think delicious
Is a word that applies to poetry.
I mean, who’d want to eat something so alive,
Grumbling, growing, trying to burst from its form
As it thrashes and throws itself all over the place,
Always breaking free if you give it the time.
Most people do not like to take the time
To allow the monster to percolate and create a delicious
Word mess. Dribbling down the walls, finding a place,
A crack to creep into your soul. Is this not what poetry
Is? Life, which is reigned into a form;
Distilled into words on a page, but certainly alive.
Possibly more than your own self, you must know that I am alive.
Living and growing, withstanding the test of time.
Full of my own substance, which takes a different form
In the heart of every person who hears the delicious
Melody of words, different for every piece of poetry
No matter where you find yourself, time or place.
Many people do not ever find a place
For me in their heart. As long as they’re alive,
They have some inconceivable notion that poetry
Does not belong to them. It belongs in a time
Far distant from them. A time where they can eat a delicious
Croissant at a café, while they prattle away, and form
Connections with high society. Connections of a form
Not nearly so deep as when I meet you in the place
You are at. I am immediate, current. Delicious
At this moment no matter your appetite. I am alive.
All that you need to do is just take the time
To pop this box in the microwave of your soul. That’s poetry.
My delicious aroma comes alive
As I escape the form of the box you place
Me in, and you take the time to appreciate a feast of poetry.