Dead Poetry

If in your lifetime no one understands you,
or trusts you, or loves you
as I do--
If every word you echo fades to silence,
Meaningless to everyone who glances,
in and out like water,
and you die--
If even to my like-minded brothers,
lost inside their own echoes,
locked in dusty boxes on the mantle,
you're invisible, superfluous to them--
Even if you're dying as you're born
Still, inside my body
as I write--
You still create a universe in me
Expanding and alive between the ashes.