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
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