Why Poetry

Oh what is that art read aloud? From your world, beauty is art; In your arms, fame sheds light, Walking in all, narrowly, you spate; ah my fate, In distress,writing is the right thing. To show how endlessly you run in thy vain, Bleeding all thoughts through the drop of ink; A free man is imprisoned with you, A blind or deaf, all dwell in your palace; In you, love is blind, dearie! Neutrally, others you embrace naturally, When thirst, you quench; in English and or french, The pinch at seize of words to make your touch soft, Like hissing of the snake the brain finds peace, Doing you is inspiring; a master piece. Desires to make all touches leave a scar of evolution Teen's age you surfaced with beauties along To many you are red; for century, words have bled. Oh poetry my beloved!