It’s the easiest thing to write a poem–

So easy that I do not understand

How anyone cannot write a verse

Long or terse

Forward and in reverse

Thinking or not of the hearse

Where all shall spell out their last verse.

More than mere rhyming, a poem

Is a bit of words in lines that

Take the reader back to home–

By “home,” I do not mean that

Place where were our childhoods

But I do mean something more like that

Place where we have yet to go

But we have always known

It to be the place where we belong.

A poem is a home for the homeless:

A place to belong when distress and duress

Oppress with the violence of opulence

And one needs but a moment’s piece of quiet.

When a poem is the home,

And when you are home in a poem,

Then a poem is the easiest thing to write,

I suppose.