To write a poem Is to take
One shred of your soul
And arrange it
Or splash it
Or smear it
Where passersby may see;
Sometimes, but only sometimes,
You know
If they do.
*
We, the endangering species,
Must, as Eiseley saw,
Destroy what we don’t understand,
The only things we fear
More than knowledge
Being first understanding,
Then empathy.
*
Yet we all, one day, must join
Those who have disappeared.
*
*
[dedicated to Tortmaster and to officebss, who inspire me far more, and far more often, than they know.]