The Nature of a Poem

O how could beautiful poetry be labeled as junk?
Many toss the words and grind them in the dirt;
They crumple the paper and lock it in the trunk,
Only to be forever emotionally scarred and hurt.
But God in His wisdom has allowed us to enjoy the entire
Realms of words so we may be at rest
Taking them to heights to which many people aspire.
We sweat and toil to produce for God our best,
But all that drips on the page is trash it seams;
And yet is put out to see for all those round
And then changes to art with each face that gleams.
As they read, their heart is to the page, bound
Soon they find themselves soaring high in the sky,
For with our words, we have taught them how to fly.