ForkWord
Poems by Inchiki
poet rebel
the idea is all that counts
the body is transient -
that is the idea anyway
you can kill this body
you can kill all the bodies you want
the idea will wait
the idea will wait
dormant through 1000 years
under the tyrant's deep-freeze
but as soon as the lid is removed
the sun hits it - and pow!
baby ideas spawning in a hundred poet brains
a poetic brain is the fertile earth
the idea is the seed
nothing else is there to need - but the word
the word must also be tended
do not forget the word -
it's all the ammunition we've got!
