A Poet's Song
I write because my heart demands I must
(verse and rhyme, my pulse upon this page flows
hot) - though measured life is so much mortal dust,
my crafted, metered life outlives death's throes.
Unread (as yet) , a poem may yet thrive
(as though a sentient beast in wait, aware,
knows patience born in hunger is alive) ,
that one just opened heart might be laid bare.
My sonnet, villanelle and ode, rebirth,
my life a pounding free verse yet untold,
each beat one drop of rain upon an earth-
like canvas (stripped and arid, aching cold)
which thirsts for hope beyond mere dust to dust -
though no one read, I write because I must.
Kevin Moore
