Free Verse

Free Verse


I read the words.
The thought abruptly stops;
A puzzle to be solved, perhaps,
Upon a line to follow -
Or not.

The early (heretic) poets,
Kahn, Laforgue, Vielé-Griffin, Dujardin,
Sought to free themselves
From the confines of the past,
And yet, they can't ignore
Poetry must always be free
To inspire, to incite, to speak;
To do less is to mumble to one's self
In the darkness of ignorance.

This idea, this illumination, this freedom,
Was only a glowing spark
Until the winds of change with names like
Hume, Whitman, Eliot, Pound,
Fanned the embers into flames.

Structured lines became soaring phrases;
Stanzas became sentences;
And always, images -
To raise emotions, to touch, to create new visions,
To show that the secrets of the heart are shared,
lay in its cadences.

What was once free
I fear has become bound.
Just as a child grows beyond its parent
It still must acknowledge
And honor its lineage.

Without understanding,
there are only words.
I read the words.
I await the flames.

An entry for the June round of "Shadows and Light Poetry Contest" 
Line Count: 34

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