Poor Poetry

Something I wrote about how poetry is becoming a dying art since less people are noticing it's potential.

Poor poetry, pruned pieces of paper paved painstakingly upon the floor.

Prestigious, once upon a time, but that time was long ago. 

Pestering passerby people, "you don't have enough words, not wasting my time."

"There's to much to read for one little poem."

"I don't get it?"

"What's it mean?"

"What's the point it's trying to bring?"

Priceless pasts and painful words,strung together carefully, woven from the soul, upon this crinkled paper, whom be balled within the trash.

A masterpiece without a name, a stage, or set of lights to claim.

Your time has come your time seems done.

Poor Poetry.... Wherefore art thou gone?

Reviews

[SPINNING ON that dizzy ..]

I like this question and tribute to poetry. Where is it? It is HERE. It is inside of all of us. There is a gift and joy to arrange a collection of meaningful words into a thought or a story or a feeling or or ... you know, YOU get it youngster :) Keep it up. Keep it alive and up in the front. Good job