As a poet I step into every morning,
I commune with the trees,
I commune with the lazy clouds drifting,
I commune with the scraps of paper bound to bushes waving like ghosts,
I commune with the passing faces of stoic speed walkers and peace-driven old people,
And, once I am finished, I step away from the light
And back to the busy shadows of my condominium,
And cram all the things I’ve gathered, locating the correct
Words and rhythms, blessing the world with a harmony
It is my duty.
As a poet, it is my duty to propound beauteous verse each and every single day.
I never had much else. No role to call my own. No place to hang my voice.
I was an intrusive note, bumbling across the world’s immaculate melody.
Now, they have found a place for me. An important career. Just as long as I enter each Day with a tune in my throat that can give song to the shapeless clouds or bits of paper
No one can do anything with. Because I’m a poet. Important person.
Written for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Harmony”. It’s ehhhhhhh not a good poem. At all. But hey, someone had to do it. Get it? Because the poem is about poetic responsibility, or something. I don’t know. I’m tired.