a poem is born
somehow like men
and then is
like a flower or a razor blade
and lives forever
like a saint
will it slay me?
or end this dirty vice?
or teach?
or pity?
turmoil?
miracle?
a tender connection?
needs truth
needs beauty
poetry?
Jimi Doyle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/impossibility-of-bad-poetry/