No More Poetry
She ripped and tore all her poems from her note books.
She removed all poetry books from her shelves;
tossed them all with the scattered torn up papers
into a barrel; lit a match to it all.
She vowed to never write another poem as long as she lived.
She watched the poems as they were consumed by the fire;
turned her back to the burning inferno,
and walked away slowly.
From the bellowing smoke,
a figure in the shape of a poem appeared.
It looked as if it almost touched the ground by the barrel,
and just stood there;
then turned around and looked at her.
She turned to look at the burning poems,
saw the figure then slowly walked towards it in disbelief.
The poem bowed its head in sorrow
and begun to speak.
She listened as the figure,
the living poem spoke to her.
“You need me!
You cannot live without me!
What are you going to do?
When your heart breaks?
When you lose someone you love?
When you see innocent people suffer?
When you see injustice in this world?
When you fall desperately, hopelessly in love?
When you hold the tiniest newborn in your arms?
When you are in such pain no one can understand?
When you witness the unspeakable, heartless cruelty man is capable of?
When you hold the lifeless hand of someone whose spirit just crossed to the other side?
Tell me, what are you going to do without me?
You need me!” the poem said.
They both sat on the ground,
watched the fire burn…
and they both cried.