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?