Journey of the Poem

each poem, a journey to find itself
all, starting somewhere inside us
most, beginning with unknown endings
each, finding its way through us, and
eventually beyond us

some, struggle little to get here
others, an unending battle to become
confession, surely good for the soul…
i’ve had my share of stillborn poems
those born only to be buried

selfless poetry is the best…
that is poetry without ego
poetry going beyond itself
these are those rare poems
not overly attached to their own words

like each colt or filly wobbling to its feet
every poem must stand on its own legs
the poet, but a midwife, must step aside
allowing the poem to journey forth into hearts
planting a seed in each it encounters

those hearts decide whether a poem endures
like frost’s the road not taken
or drift helplessly lost
in second-hand bookstores
alongside back issues of vanity fair