What is a poem, is it heart and soul
baring a hidden muse
or an inner voice, in search of a vent
to let out the building fumes

Does it have legs, to explore and trek
inviting peaks of the mountains
or stride the terrain, of rivers and streams
to find if they do ever meet

Does a poem have eyes, to paint on a canvas
what is beyond the unseen
or a vision of the blind, of feel and touch
to make sense of dotted lines

Does it have hands, to shake the world
to wake it from a slumber
or to embrace those, without hands or feet
hungry for a humane touch

Does it have a class, a creed or race
to discriminate black from white
or does it cross frontiers, to lend its voice
to the down trodden frigid face

Is it just words, dressed in forms
pleasing to eyes of beholder
or are some masked. walking a maze
like squares of a Rubik's Cube

Is a poem a poem, if it doesn't find
a willing mate to engage
or is it destined to live a solitary life
imprisoned on some page?