Ars Poetica
A poem is like the ripples in a pond,
As the muted sound.
Like the reflection of the sun on an aluminum foil,
As the muddy soil.
Like a rain drop,
Dry as the desert crop.
Like the myriad colors in a shaft of light,
As the imagination takes flight.
Motionless like the shifting sand,
As a marauding band.
Like the glimpse of a familiar face in a milling crowd,
As the flash of lightning in a foreboding cloud.
It should grab you like a snare
As a shooting flare!
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