The Nature of a Poem

A poem is a silly thing

It’s made straight from emotion.

Not really words, not really form

It’s something like an ocean.

A poem is a vastish thing

And yet it is so tiny.

It means so much in one small life,

But on the page is finey.

A poem is a fiercish thing

A nail made of words.

Tis true it’s small, but when it pushed,

The point comes through in thirds.

A poem is a growing thing

What comes out comes in.

It’s meant to let emotions out,

But that is what it brings.