On being ask why I waste my time writing poetry.*

A poet lives three times:
once remembering,
once writing,
once being read.

Three lives unfolding
the genetic code
of the soul.

Not such easy
lives to create,
but they produce
a map of memory
that vindicates
your existence
and may lead strangers
to small, keen joys
they never imagined.

Modest delights
keep hearts alive.

  ~mce