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Poem

Kayla Simon


So I’ve something to share with you;

to be precise, I’ve produced a poem.

Look, I’ve labored over my letters,

diligently drafted various verses;

this printing process is more meticulous

than simply typing text in a formatted font.

I’ve set up symbols and edited expressions,

carefully considered countless combinations

until I finally found this free verse form.

And did I mention? I made it just for you!

But then again, does effort equal excellence?

And just because I’ve left these lines for you

is it right to require that you read them?

It’s true, I’ve put in time and trouble

scouring search engines for synonyms

to attend to this abundant alliteration

but do my delicately refined rhythms

command a reader’s commendation?

If I arrange articles for an audience,

can I even expect anyone’s attention?

Should you analyze my alphabet,

draw conclusions from my consonants

or is it arrogance to assume assonance

has a meaning you might expose?

If I sit here and summon similes for you,

should you study their significance?

Or is it ignorant to imply ​concrete ideas

can be inferred from abstract imagery

when a metaphor is nothing more

than comparing without cause?

Well either way, this piece is written,

prepared, polished, pronounced a poem.

And even if you think my technique’s trivial

or insist my intent has no importance,

you’ve read these words and reached this point,

so is there a thought there in your mind?

Just take a moment, make a comment,

there must be something you can share.

Are my musings masterful, marvelous,

myopic, mediocre, maybe meaningless?

Don’t be scared, please speak, please say it—

almost any adjective will do.

To an author, any opinion is better

than apathy, than no answer at all.

On second thought,

my poem’s not perfect

so it’s pointless,

I’m not prepared

for your critique.

I’ve wasted words,

there’s more to do,

always another edit

I can make—

I’ll just show you

when it’s done.

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