My Poem
By Wanda Thomas Littles © 2010
My poem lies beside my bed and whispers brilliance.
My poem shines the purest light on the proletariat,
and casts her shadow in high places.
My poem pricks indifference and gets all
en tu cara.
My poem bristles at the haughty, and peels
the stardust from their pride.
My poem pries the arrogance from the pompous,
and laughs out loud at their nakedness.
My poem takes the place of cake, and
pleases the palates of queens.
My poem places her trust in God and
walks on water.
My poem brims with hope and runs depression crazy.
My poem pulses with life and scares death silly.
My poem senses what is good and snuggles next to truth.
My poem shuns mean spirits and cozies up to sweetness.
My poem dons the face of an artist and paints nature pretty.
My poem produces arias and authors bright smiles.
My poem works like an ox and grows weary.
My poem sits in her chair and rests.
My poem sleeps.
