Every poem begins with a spirit,
But sometimes the need to achieve
Puts perfection before existence;
Finely-honed words ahead of truth.
It is possible to edit clean away
The original thought that gave it breath,
And what is left but a specimen-
A relic of life that almost was?
This art on display, this talk of the town,
Is only a delicate skeleton.
Is it too late? What do you think?
Can I breathe it to life again?
Copyright © Jamie Wright Bagley, 2015. All Rights Reserved.