No Poem

What if you wanted to write a poem, but were incapable?

I have no interest in writing this.

So I tell myself and you.

Yet here I am, explaining myself

to myself, as others look on.

It is good my shame does not react to blame.

Or perhaps my shame does not deserve blame?

Then why be embarrassed, by my use of words? 

They are simple, lack emotion, mean nothing.

My poetic power is like a light breeze.

Easily unnoticed, undisturbed and irrelevant. 

Perhaps it is all I have to give.

Does it mean nothing?

When a poet dies and has no words,

Does his stillness, his quiet mean so little?

If you think so,

then you are not a poet.