Realm of a poem

Realm of a poem 

A poem is born through poets, not from them;
Emotions nursed in propriety, in the worlds
Now lie in the hearse of words;
Totally cut without possession…ugh…c’est complètement parti mes amis!
C’est fini, alors c’est fini,
This mayhem!

Readers take over now,

Criticize; analyze, love, slaughter left and right,
The poet drops the pride and the vow,
Joins as a reader in the ugly pretty fight!

Wrong is heavy and loose

Let’s delve in the write so high and light,
Whatever be the choice we have nothing to lose,
Threw up everything on the page toute à l’heure in delight!
                                  
Let’s love the poets, who think otherwise,
For they, like us are also right,
We transgress as readers, wise, unwise,
Without prosecuting visitors;
For us – as part of them,
There aren’t any trespassers,
In the realm of a poem!