Improbable Probability

Sometimes when I try to tighten my words,

I put them beside yours,

Expecting them to be beautiful and grand.

Sometimes when I try to tighten my words,

I look at yours,

Then I would feel pain,

For no one could bring beauty

Other than your words and your style.

They could not be imitated,

For imitating you would cause my downfall

The beauty that each line contributes make

my poem fall into pieces

as though a jalousie is smashed-

the pieces are useless,

they could not be retrieved-

one thing I am sure is that,

if I lose my poem because of you

I can be the most pathetic being in the world

Never wanting to write poems,

crap such as this,

But I am lucky.

Your poems and my poems are two different worlds-

Mine is a crap and yours is the form of beauty

But I have known that not all beautiful things are favorable for I found

My poem dancing out of a crappy experience,

So now, tell me whose poem is better

Yours or mine?

Is it yours that has the real beauty or mine that is

Motivated by beauty and has the real reinvention?

Sometimes when I try to tighten my words,

I lay them on the table and smile,

For they radiate on their own,

Without becoming beautiful and grand.

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