All poetry,
Well it took hold of me
I mean all this poetry
It really grips the soul of me
To read all of this poetry
Well it would take me centuries
Sitting silent on endless balconies
Questioning the whats and whos and hows of me
Lying still on sturdy bows of trees
Reading through perfectly posed symphonies
Twenty six letters making all this poetry
Oh how they take ahold of me
And all of you, authors of this poetry
So distant and naive
Unknowingly knowing me
Unknowingly holding me