this is just a poem
and not even a real one at that
rules of rhyme and meter, bent and broken
not enough, though, to be daring or dynamic
just a poem
not sermon, carefully crafted for days
outlining a new way of seeing
opening up a world of hope
nor stirring speech, silver spoken
to a roaring ocean teeming with lives
carrying the words as they are
swept out by tomorrow's tides
just a poem
with quirky mystery, and unseen angles
bumps and cliffs, and sense always
seeming to vanish just as
you notice it might be there
unlike the speech or sermon,
you can't complain
that i didn't do it right
because i never promised
any such thing
just a poem
about anything i please
this one is about
chrysanthemums