SonNet

If poetry could pick apart the atom,
Unravel D.N.A., or stop old age,
It's value could be measured with a gauge
And read so clearly anyone could fathom
The full five feet of every line and verse.
But there's more to poetry than metered lines,
The by-products of our frustrated lives
Or an attempt to set things right with words.
We could think of poems as frozen time,
As threads of thought, holding words together.
What connects them is not the verse or rhyme
But measured breath, a date, a time, a thought.
An emotion that we had before dying,
A ripple on the waters which we caught.