Is Real Poetry Dead?

Tired of reading
Poems on lost love
Written by
Suicidal teenagers
Ageing bachelors
Frustrated Spinsters
Neglected Wives
Jealous Husbands

Or cribbing pieces
Written by
Spoilt Children
Hassled Mothers
Distraught Fathers
Angry teachers
Puritan Preachers
All such creatures

I shut off my screen
And rush outdoors
To admire Nature
To sing her praises
To thank God for
Sunrise and Sunset
The fruit on the trees
The birds and the bees
All the things that please

By the time I return
I am able to discern
It is time to take a break
Ignoring what is at stake
The still born poems
Swimming in my head
And decide
To rest instead
Instead of worrying -
If real poetry is dead?