This is a poem because I say it is!
It's not just a set of words.
Not just some lines that don't rhyme.
It is a slice of life.
A slice of spoken word.

Not all of you will agree with me.
Some might say there's nothing there.
But beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
And a poem takes on meaning
In the recesses of the mind.
Not my mind though, in yours.

With careful choice of phrasing
The pictures I once had
Are carried to your brain
Where they become as fluid as they were
Floating round the cavity between my ears.

This is a poem because it must be!
Why else would I be here?
Yes and now that it has been read aloud
The words have been set free.
Not tied to the page where on
They are just patterns of black on white.

This is a poem, because, it is!