Never a Poem

I am not a poet
I like to thread words together
And frame meaning
Like something that bumps against consciousness

But I am not a poet, besides,
Who understands these fragile blocks of text?
Not me. Not you. No one in particular.
Or should I not say that about those that find it?

These are flying above a sea of rest and blessed truth
They live with open doors in the midday sun
They blend cacophony and triumph
Like daisies in the noon prairie
Liking grasslands with shrubbery
And roses where they dare not be.