There Is

This is not a poem These are merely lines
This is not a poem these lines are broken
This poem, though it is not a poem
Is also broken

These lines are simply horizontal these lines
Do not reach their end
These lines are the way I talk in reality
These lines are a moving flat mechanical walk

Which I leave unfinished
There is so much to be done there is plenty
Plenty is the idea more than enough
Books to be read Places to be Songs to be written

There is so much to be done
These lines show the way
These lines are very often discreet
About the many things to be done

These lines are the new horizon
Because there is so much to be done
I have left you a few of these lines
Since you always say you are so busy, yet

I see nothing changing
There is so much to be done that
I have left you something
Something only you can accomplish
If you follow these lines
To their unnatural non-exclusive ending

One day you will discover it
And when perhaps we can be friends again
Instead of you looking at me
For a conclusion
As if you look at me

As though I were a consideration
Not the one you really came here for
Under the pretense of
Poetry and literature again

©Dean Baker