Former Poetry

This was once a poem.
It was profound and beautiful.
It had rhythm and meaning.
It sang of so much.

If you had read it,
When it was a poem,
You would have been
Moved by it.

You would have read it aloud,
To hear the beauty of its words,
To experience the words.
And you would have loved it.

You would have shared it with others,
Discussed it, analyzed it,
Read what others had to say about it.
You would have wished to meet the poet.

But that was long, long ago.
It no longer has meaning,
Nor is it beautiful or profound.
No one reads it, recites it, or knows it.

It is not worth knowing.
It has become shallow and lifeless.
It is anathema, and no one cares
Who the poet was.

No one can recall his name.

So it is forgotten.