The times have changed for poets.
Long gone are the notebooks piling
high with frustrated prose and lyrics,
dust bound and irrelevant, for thought
is fleeting as the modern world and
synapses now demand the instant in
the instant.

The poem was born for this. The
living form of a moment found, both
infinitesimally small and profoundly
long lasting. The supple being that a
poem is, thriving once more, rising to
the position it was supposed to be.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.