Soon left to the page
A poem indecipherable, a chore to read
though chock-full of evocative images
ever on the brink of making sense,
hints of eloquence shot randomly through.
If the reader has little faith – the poet
viewed as foolish, inexpert, unduly obscure
with nothing important to convey –
the poem is soon left to the page
a thick, tiresome, insoluble mystery.
If, however, the reader somehow gets a whiff,
is moved to trust, delves deeper,
takes the random eloquence
as further hint and promise of a hidden treasure,
sensing the passion with which the author
originally took up the pen
then the poem may also be taken up,
endured, persevered – solved and resolved,
experienced, cherished and incorporated
to the ultimate triumph of poet and reader,
one step further towards the two becoming One.
O child of God, the poet is distinguishable by how
he says what everyone already knows.