A simple poem

In my strife for perfection,

Lofty complex ideals galored,

And I never did grasp,

That you could be also be simple.

Complex twisted thought lines,

intersecting imaginary planes,

Is what I thought you should be,

But, you need not have been complex.

Amidst the desire for superficial beauty,

Hunting the perfect rhyme and metric,

I had forgotten that you could be 

As simple as a note on a frozen plum

Left in the freezer, Oh so delicious.

And there in lies poetry,

Mundane can also be beautifully poetic.

It is the thought, not the body,

The theme, not the armour,

Which makes you a poem.

A simple thought, that can resonate

A heart string, wound tight between

The wooden pegs, screaming to break free,

And in the process creating the perfect noice,

Or music, to someone's ears.

A flow of words pouring out

From well springs rooted deep

In the corner of the sunken minds.

It does not matter if it does not rhyme

At the end, Does it rhyme with the strings

Would tight within?

A poem is just a concoction of words,

Woven into a mesh.

There need not be a grand message,

Of layered meaning hidden behind

Thick armours of obscure metaphors.

It can be as simple as the water falling

Down the little girl's hair.

Which everyone else calls rain.

And therein lies the beauty of the mundane.

The poem that makes you pause

And relook at the ordinary, with a filter

You knew existed, but never sought to put on,

That makes you relish the brief 

Unnoticed moments In a new light,

A  simple poem,

Is also a good poem.

P.S. Thank you Paterson.