My Little Love Ditty

So you say that poetry is useless,

That literature serves only those whom it interest,

That in the function of life,

It is hair-spray to a bald man.

I will not defend it,

Not raise a word to change

That which you choose to believe.

It will not cure cancer,

Defend the helpless,

Stop the machines of greed.

It will not soothe blistered feet

Running all day,

Tired eyes searching

For one more way,

One more clause,

One more bend,

One more.

It only hurts your head,

With long winded metaphors,

Words that challenge you

To decipher what they may not mean.

It will rage and convulse,

Cry in it's corner,

Forever dying.

But when the evening sun

Caresses these cherry trees,

Faint smells of home

Smoke up from every house,

Lazy stars tossing about

Unnumbered wishes

I am reminded

Of the gentle slant of your hips, 

The softness of your lips,

Eyes that haunt me for days,

And I forget,

Cancer, greed,

The world.

Only silent music, 

Felt,

Noiseless.

Like elation,

Like discovery,

Love 

So useless,

Hair-spray to a bald man.