WHY

MY POETIC HEART’S NEEDS

I live inside words,

words I use

to confront the nature

of actions taught

to men of self bought stature.

I am dead to them,
I have no name, do not exist,

but words set precisely in place

that may be shelved yet refuse to not resist.

For they can only fight and never die,

they can be smashed as lies in the cupboard,

yet the truth of them sharp as knives

will cut even deeper as shards.

I only write words to know

I spoke out while I lived

and not long after I died.

© M Durfee

9/25/13