Poetry is fleeting.
It's like a drop of water on your dry tongue in the desert -
you don't know when it'll come again -
a scary feeling.
It's like a storm that passes over you, drenching you in rain -
but only for a brief moment -
and then it's gone.
It's like a passing subway train.
It's like a flash of lightning and
the only thing that you can remember is an echoing thunder where it once shone.
One moment it's there, singing songs and rhymes in your head.
And the next, it leaves you drained with only fragments.
You only have a few seconds.
By the time it's written, it's different, and can never be the same again.
It can never be that Angel's whisper,
but a true artist depends on how close you can get to that Angel.