Why Do We Expect So Much?

I’m not a seamstress, threading the eye of a needle, which
seems harder than herding a camel through that very eye.
Yet, I want to weave tapestries of words, thoughts, feelings-
all nebulous concepts without format.
Living outside the literal, they’re the Emporer’s New Clothes.

If I could convince just one person, the right person, that
My words fit, can clothe the ruler in sumptuous fabrics, colors, textures
Will everyone else see the poetic garment?
The one I wear every day without common recognition of its value.
Maybe I should become a purveyor of ready to wear
rather than haute couture. What is poetry, really?
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
I suppose, but I’d hazard a guess that the treasure-seeker
is a proprietor of a rather impressive line of his own
haute-couture, just waiting to be recognized.