What is a poem?
A garden full of words, each one opening
Into a flower, holding life underneath a painting.
A middle-schooler with a crush,
Using petals as a prophecy:
“She loves me, she loves me not.”
It is the way Charlie Brown will always end
With “She loves me not.”
There is always a hope for him in the end.
A poem is a beginning in an end,
An end in a beginning,
A space not bound by time,
But meeting and wrestling time, until they are equal.
A poem is rhythm;
My breath in the air,
Cold night air, when you can see your life
Floating before you.
Inspiration, breathing back in,
Letting your lungs fill and your chest rise.
Then go through it all again.
A poem is a dance;
Where it is, no one can tell
But everyone knows.
It is right now,
Which now is just then,
A memory which was and is.
A poem knows the future,
Because it is a prophet.
A poem is laughter,
From a newborn baby and a hobbit
On his 111th birthday.
The kind without shame;
Open-mouthed, head back, no concern for decorum.
A poem is presence,
Far stronger than anything.
Imminent beauty and terror which weighs
More heavily than any argument.
The best apologetic for God and art.
In the Beginning, before there was
The Father loved the Son,
The Son loved the Father,
The Spirit dwelt between them,
And poetry was born.