it’s baffling,
the way the poetry forms.
one day, there are no words
and you’re left in silence.
the next day, you’re exploding;
firewords streak the sky and stain the clouds with ink
it’s intriguing,
the infinite possibilities of a poem
d the words up, then b
l r
i e
u a
b k them down
spin the letters
r r
o o
u and u
n n
d d
it’s magical
how a few simple lines can be made into a work of art
it just depends
on the how the w o r d s
are a
r
r
a
n
g
e
d.
ah, poetry is its own magic.