Is it the words that flow and rhyme
And dance in rhythm, keeping time?
Or is it a line
That breaks when it wants to,
Not when it’s told;
A thought
Spilling without apology?
Or 5-7-5
Secrets whispered by the wind
Words, though few, sing true?
Perhaps it is found behind coughed petals,
Fourteen lines aligning to pave a stage
Where lovers for love charge into battle
And hearts are found pierced or tangled in rage
Or ten words, though short, a poem for the world
Or the sun spilling gold across the sky
Painting clouds as the sea drowns its light.
To me, poetry is emotion;
Memory,
Ink spilled where the heart leaked
And it is not meant for everyone
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC
Is it the words that flow and rhyme
And dance in rhythm, keeping time?
Or is it a line
That breaks when it wants to,
Not when it’s told;
A thought
Spilling without apology?
Or 5-7-5
Secrets whispered by the wind
Words, though few, sing true?
Perhaps it is found behind coughed petals,
Fourteen lines aligning to pave a stage
Where lovers for love charge into battle
And hearts are found pierced or tangled in rage
Or ten words, though short, a poem for the world
Or the sun spilling gold across the sky
Painting clouds as the sea drowns its light.
To me, poetry is emotion;
Memory,
Ink spilled where the heart leaked
And it is not meant for everyone
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