Life makes a mockery
Of all my poetry.
It laughs
At the words which try to express
The feeling that words can never trap.
The wild birds of emotion
Perch tentatively in the souls of men,
Until the cat-like paragraphs
Stalk them and pounce
As the birds, startled, take flight;
And the cats are left
Holding only a few tail feathers,
Somehow only mildly reminiscent
Of the feelings
Which, undaunted, light anew
In our hearts.
The cat slinks sullenly away,
Its energy spent in vain.

Tiny, yet exquisite
It lies motionless on the sidewalk;
Fragile and lifeless
It catches my eye.
A rainbow of color,
A prism of emotion;
I look at it
As a mirror,
And I see myself.
That miniscule, insignificant
Part of God’s creation–
So simple, yet so glorious.
The choice is mine:
Do I crush it–
To hear the satisfying crunch
Of its last sigh?
Or do I leave it–
For the next passer-by
To marvel at
Or to destroy?
What a world of discovery
In one small autumn leaf.