How Do You Know, a Poem.

I haven’t written poetry in a long while,  but every once in a blue moon I feel the need. It’s like a tightly wound knot of emotion sitting in my chest, that only a poem can relieve. So here it is. Short and simple.

How do you know when something has died?

A root from the earth,

and  stars in her eyes.

By the moon’s glowing light,

she walks the streets at night.

How do you know when something is alive?

Youth is a tree that stands in the field,

Beautiful skin covers knees that  kneel,

She gets the fix so she doesn’t have to feel

How do you know when something is real?