What About Poetry? Poem by david lessard

What happens to the good poems?
Where do they go to die?
Do they fade away to nothing?
Our do they in some hearts lie?

Where do the poems go that are bad?
And whose to say that they are?
Why should a critic call it bad?
Did they not once wish upon a star?

Where do the mediocre poems go to?
The ones that never really say a thing?
Where do the words go when they're spoken?
What makes one weep and one to sing?

Where do the thoughts of poetry drift off to?
Do they stand in shadows, awaiting dawn?
Or do they shine as bright as the summer sun?
Better that, than to go on and on and on.

Poetry, what would life be like without it?
I think the silence would be profound,
Poetry, hanging in the air without a word,
No laughter, no heartbreak, not any sound.