Escape

 Escape


A poem once written now escapes

And the meaning is what the reader makes

What the poet meant matters not a jot

The lines now freed are no longer his. 


The poet's poems are his children

Now leaving home for good

Not ungrateful but called 

To plough a brand new furrow. 


The words no longer his belong

To the wide world and the reader

Must make of it his own

Embrace what speaks to him. 


Beauty is in the mouth of the speaker 

For it only lives in others not on pages

It lives in the minds and hearts of readers 

Or it doesn’t live at all.  

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