mundane

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Poetry should exist outside our world
of just full courted and caution taped basements;
it should be mundane, be humane,
like pride in a mother's eyes when
her children grow,
like happiness in a sister when
her brother comes back from war,
like how the coffee maker grinds,
like the bitter residue in a loaded gun,
like how the mail box is overflowing.

Encompassing abstract rambles,
thoughts without purpose, like
how the world is quite populated,
how spilled blood is still a stain difficult to clean,
how refusing to hate is a peace commonly deterred,
how we are nothing but words on a page
when it comes down to our existence,
religiously manipulating
imagination to create something
more than just ink that cascades down
your fingers.

Capture the poetry in the world,
because poetry should not be fancied
as wealth and rich and core;
it should be raw, it should be felt, it should incite,
and be more than just sentences without stutter.

There is no shame of the intoxication drunk words bring;
the impact, the resolve, the feeling
sober will power cannot duplicate,
because poetry is not learning how
to make something seem like poetry,
it is finding the poetry in something
that speaks for itself in a language
many are unwilling to listen.

•∞•