Sometimes Poetry Is Sounder Than Our Planet and Peace
At times it's musical.
No wonder it goes lyrical.
At times it’s dead silent, if not direct and defiant—
fuller than a kneading, assuaging void that’s unpregnant.
When the muse is a loud murmur,
it can't accept without demur.
Poetry can be a painful protest, an echoing pot
full of all, and perhaps not for all,
A sort
of raw and rough whisper without a wall.
It probes, names and shames potholes
that hurt our helpless souls and soles.
It's a line in topical verse
for a fairer universe.