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!