Raison D'Être Poem by T. M. Moore

What is this little poem of mine?
A work of words and meter, line
and rhyme; a thought, a soaring hope,
me clinging to life-saving rope;
a gesture made to no one, to
the world, to anybody who,
deep in his soul aspires to more.
These simple lines in feet of four
and strict end-line agreement may
not change the world or save the day;
they won't be read or memorized
by kids in school (how I despised
those exercises!) . These few words
will huddle here, I guess, like birds
perched on a wire, which, just because
they're common, means that few will pause
to contemplate how beautiful
they are just being there. The pull
or push of something in my soul
demands that I mark up my scroll
from time to time with musings such
as this. It's how I get in touch
with my divinity, and nod
with thanks to the eternal God
for things like rhythm, sound, delight,
and simple things to think and write.