Lost and Found

The very word Poetry…sounds rhythmic as rhyme… As tho; conch shells reciting their hymn As if, the pebbles giving tunes to the streams As in, thoughts forming a poets dream. Honestly; in the absence of my mind I don’t know what poetry is all about. And I don’t know, if any poet knows … In their presence of mind; as well. What is that, that makes me know (that) its poetry?! That which makes me write as poetry…I don’t know? Is that the spark of a notion that makes its noise? In the most beauteous mindset, there’s this- the mind voice! Emitting from within or speaking from nowhere; truly That which, in its rendition on paper; turns to be as poetry. I go cynically insane, as an absent minded man But to bring it down on paper- it’s a cool thing to happen. A mathematical equation sounds abstract to me, as GOD to an atheist As poems might sound void for a mathematician or a scientist. But,a poet visualizes a thought, transforming from that of words to verse Where from… form, shape & pattern take their editing sword. I go days, weeks sometimes years have passed by Me not writing a verse, or thinking where the matter lies Poetry; wherefore are you as my passion, savior & grit However, I’m nothing & nowhere- as in lost & found somewhere.