We, poems

We, poems.

Do we know it? 

How like prose transformed to poetry with flourish, with flowering words,

                                                                                We, too may bud and blossom. 

                                                                                               

                                                                                                As a poem may both bludgeon

  Or bolster beauty,

                So, too,

                 Our words, our lives speak out and over creation,

selves created, selves creating chaos, peace, death or life. 

The poem sees what we seek, expresses concepts like eternity, expands on ruminations of reality,

transports us to where the Poet placed us. 

We, poems of infinite form and choice, yearn to know the Poet’s soul.

Grappling with lines or years, we portray profundity, pose and answer questions of the deep as we are

all the while

stilled or shaken

in or by a poem.