Poetry is a Lie


A fleeting moment of meaning 
grasp it to your heart
it will not flicker long
our lives are grasping
by nature, clenching
searching for truth
clinging to its tendrils
as one born blind
barely sensing great light 
striking out all around
flinging hands left and right
open arms beckon
never to be filled
even the best verse
meaningless, nothing
worthless, a waste
poetry a lie
with but one purpose
to touch another
to share
the heart's communing



(c) 2002 Robert H. Harrison