What's The Point? Poem by Ian Keenan

What's the point
Of poetry? ;
How can the sun on this path
Be conveyed,
The quiet of the church,
The silence of the gravestones,
The stillness
Where my little boys
Once ran?

At the centre of this heart
The blood pumps of my past,
The growing up of self
And all about me,
And neither words
Nor even God
Can capture
How I ache and cry,

For they have gone,
And I am left a man
And father,
Weak perhaps,
Perhaps close to my end,

But waiting even so
For one more sight
Of boys now men
Whose absence moves me
Far beyond the weighty words

Of poetry.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -