Poems and People

Poems are like people,

at least in some ways,

at least on some days,

improving sometimes,

(perhaps)

if they are treated 

to some nourishment,

a little touch up.

Not all poems are loved,

many are not noticed at all.

The same goes 

for far too many people,

and even those noticed 

are sometimes not remembered,

not as the poets

or those unseen people

would prefer.

Some poems are 

not allowed to grow old, 

(perhaps) 

tossed in a box,

or burned in a fire.

And not all people

grow old,

some get the box,

others the fire.

(perhaps both)

But here’s the truth.

All poems, all people,

merit attention.

Without it, they become

shadows of what or who

they were.

Lost.

Empty.

Starved.

Forgotten, except 

in our memories,

in the stories we tell of them,

in the words and nuances we recall.

So, add a comma,

or take one out,

but always, always

add a remembrance.

Then they’ll live forever.