When we laugh,
thats poetry, and
when I get that feeling,
an emotion I cannot quite
reciprocate, Oh, that
is sweet, raw artistry.
Isn’t this beautiful,
You’re falling into place
right next to me.
Non-Material,
above picturesque!
An emotion so robust, yet humble;
Seen in a frame on a wall, or in sand
along the shore, or in my notebook
from which pages have been torn;
my God, that is where poetry is born.
Our fears are poetry,
our peers, the influence.
An Empirical, transcendental
accumulation and a work in progress.
Something a lens only tries to uphold,
but cannot truly experience;
that is poetry.
It breathes along in time.