What is this world
Where we have lost our poetic gifts, the bone
Set to bring us higher
We are lost
Like a dog that no longer knows how to please
And takes no pleasure in its owner’s benevolence
What is this world if
By chance or by design
We cannot transform our rage
With the use of
Words
majestic, magical, magnanimous
Words
Plucked and carefully, lovingly cradled
From the tempest and tarantella that
Only humans
Can, at once, feel and craft,
Far, far away from the fleet of baboons
Tapping furiously away
In the random attempt to reach
Shakespeare’s brow.
©️Veek Yeung 2021-2025 All Rights Reserved
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