the trajectory of dreams
the fair world seen
through rose colored glasses
or is my glass half full
or empty that
kind of reasoning
or introverted death throes
weighed on a tragic scale
is balanced I know
by hearts with something to say
amateurishly, like me or by
Whitman's next coming Genius of
rhymes, so I say , the scales
if even fully to one side
and poetry way up
in the air by bad metaphor
or crass simile
weighs nothing when
compared to daily miseries of
the blank public stares the
cheep cheep cries of a sparrow fallen
down floundering
or three kittens
that died in my arms
when their mother
refused to feed them
so even bad poetry I believe
and how I have managed to provide
weighs more than the
scales of life
will ever show.