by Jay Logsdon

Poetry Quickens It's Pulse

Poetry is strolling

Calm and collected

Down the sidewalk

In a park

Walking a small brown dog

Happy to be breathing that cold morning air

Poetry goes at the pace

At which young and old

Go from place to place

Taxi to bus to plane to boot

Rapidly moving towards where they want to go

Poetry is skipping like the happy jack-in-the-box

Leaping and bounding

Running about for no reason

Like a chicken that finds freedom when its head gets cut off

Poetry quickens its pulse

It's running scared

Hiding from authority

Streaking towards an escape

With uncertain decisions and unplanned accidents

Poetry is motionless

Lying all alone

In whatever hole its chosen

Silent as the grave

Lost in dreams and nightmares unable to awaken

Poetry is shouting

Crying for revenge

Or to a friend

In rage or peace

Saying here I am so deal with it

Poetry takes one last stand

Its pent up courage

Its last moments of bravery

It's willing and able saying

I'll give it one last try and if I don't come back don't wait up.