When Poetry becomes a household chore *edited

When words complain like an infant, feed them a bottle of milk

but if they won’t stop crying cradle them to your bosom

treat words as if they were your babies-

they need to be nurtured

When words stretch like kneaded dough

mold them until their size becomes sufficient enough to bake

treat words as if they were bread

they need to be refined

When words stain like blood on a shirt

wash and bleach them to attain purity again

treat words as if they were your laundry-

they need to be rinsed

When words jumble like the clothes inside your dresser

arrange them in designation

treat words as if they were your cluttered clothes-

they need to be sorted

But when words scatter like dried leaves in your lawn

leave them alone,

there are still plenty of household chores to do

abandoned beginnings,

lost hopes

impossible birth to a new breed of poetry.

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