Poetry, Elusive, Mystery

Poetry. Elusive. Mystery. Struggling to form a steady flow Created by feelers in the know. Splendid wordsmith, do you see? It is up to us, my prolific friend To ensure this art form will never end Missives seldom understood completely At a feeling level, relate with a zing. Straight as a pin into your heart string. Poetry, old friend, elusive. Mystery. Within your power forgotten emotions hide The creator forms a bond with the reader that ties deep inside Prolific word player, oh, don’t you see? You have no control, deniability or choice? As did not Coleridge, Shakespeare, Poe or Joyce Poetry calls to our souls, makes us happy, you see Our best friend is within, a romantic muse She takes care of our needs, obliterates confuse Splendid wordsmith, do you see? The plethora of words that form in front of thee? They dance, laugh and shriek, uninhibited, joyfully We let them have the reins, enthusiastically Recognizing the primal need for poetry