untitled poem by Bob MacKenzie If a thousand thousand poets' clever Words enshrined their loves as art, then Surely all the metaphors are taken. I may speak of stars or roses never Seen before, speak of beauty without peer, Say they pale when placed by your pure light. Art and nature leave me without insight, Images or words. If words may seem clear, They remain just words, and you are real. You may be that star, that rose, and may be All the poets write about, but I feel You: your heart, your soul, your warmth when near me. You are. That is enough for me to see Your best metaphor is reality. |