You know, I never really thought

How we would be without creativity, blandness as

Far as the eye can see

A visual and mental drought

 

There would be no color

No music, no art,

Nothing to move the heart

Nor anything to discover

 

It's a hard thing to ponder, what it means

To live such a bleak life

Void of meaning with no respite

Let alone poetry it seems

 

The greatest works of the world gone,

Even this one I write,

As I acknowledge this spotlight

And have my thoughts be looked upon

 

So if poetry did not exist,

I know that I would say:

Though it had never seen the light of day

It would most certainly be missed