To Write a PoembyLauren Hynde©
The craft of poetry is itinerant as its design
(were it the silence of a poet on the triclinium)
To the wandering love, the sound of piano, metronome
better it were if he consumed the fire, eternal, adagio
But there are bullets, scenes, signs!
to kill and to die without verse
He knows to write is to wrap his soul
in a body of explosives, Al Qaeda-style
It is to play with fate in a passionate coil
as if it were a minor god, woven in silk.