Theoretical Beliefs Of Origin

Braving to face,
Yet another awaiting audience...
Prepared to criticize,
What one has done to do...
Most of their life to enjoy and invite,
Judgement passed...
From morning, noon and night.
While seasons come and go.
And people grow older.
Leaving what one does,
To reveal fresh as if brand new.
Is a feeling of a blessing received.
That one in this position,
After years of attracting...
Judgement passers,
Doubters, critics and naysayers.
Has to be a talent,
Words can not be found to find...
To keep the doing of it,
Repeatedly confined to a limited definition.

'This...
This is not poetry.'

'Okay.
Then...
What IS poetry?
How would you define it.'

'It's a...um...uh...
Poetry is...like,
You know...uh...'

'Who created its format and specifics?'

'I...huh...who...'

'Yeah.
Who are those scholars deciding,
What one poet writes...
Achieves the best correctness over another.
To yet,
Have anyone determined with certainty...
The origin of poetry.
And please...
No more of your theories.
And tales told to sell,
About the purity of emaculate conception!'