Am I a poet?

I used to think poetry had a form
A structure on which to adhere to
Little did I know it was a cage
One, seemingly, of my own making

I am stuck to the good old quaint
Of verses wrapped in stanzas
I believed that each line of verse
Ought to be a poem of its own

Then came the modern poet
And his long conversations
The verses became prose
And the stanza disposed

Am I too quaint for modern poetry?
Or jaded to stick to symmetry?
Am I a champion to traditions?
Or a barbarous old pedant

I used to think I am a poet
But now I doubt it’s correct
I found pride in my caged stanza
But I fear I could be the prisoner

© GIDRAF MWANGI