It’s a poem if the words can live without you.
If the allegory can make blinding light shine from tombs
breathe them back to – reality.
It’s a poem if,
there are possibilities for similies linking people
from fallen walls to picket signs
drawing scents of lemons
shake hands of farm girls to vegetarians
likening poetry to biblical days
with your comrades
logging different chapters
forcing the community for just one night
directly into the sun
That’s a poem.