Lost Stanzas Poem by Daniel Brick

What difference would it make
that I lose hope in writing poems
because trash talk on TV and foul speech
in the streets have cluttered the Paths of Poetry?
And you will answer, None at all, because
our poems will ascend to a purer realm, where cleansed
they will orbit the ancient spheres of harmony and hope,
and thus enhanced, they will descend in their full glory
into the hearing of those who most need this rescue.

What difference would it make
that I abandon my apartment
in Inver Grove Heights, and went to live
in my niece's cabin inside a Wisconsin forest?
And you would answer, None at all, because
you are still with us whether the place is
Inver Grove Heights or the Sonoma Desert in Arizona
or some fabled place of myth. So with good graces
go to your Wisconsin forest and renew your imagination.

What difference would it make
that we are tired of our endeavors, lose
our focus, wander in circles instead of proceeding
resolutely to our shared goals and end results?
And you would answer, None at all, because
we will always lift each other's spirits,
and the poems now buried in our souls
will lift themselves of their own accord, and greet
us at the crossroads where poets and poems unite.