Lifespan of a Poem

LIFESPAN OF A POEM

First lines pop up like a positive test, 

and then the wild, frenetic life-thirst 

of little ones. At three, the world sings 

a litany of possibilities—nothing

can’t be edited here. There follows then  

an angsty bit, the adolescent realization 

that one cannot be all things to all 

readers—choices must be made. All 

paths do not double back. Then somewhere in 

the middle part, a crisis—call it a reconsideration—

of whether this is going somewhere

at all—or, to put it in a finer font, somewhere 

worth going. But here we've reached a stage

where, like it or not, we must now face

the one perennial perplexity ourselves—

how then do we end, and well?

A pressing question. Ironically, less pressure

when bound in something bigger.