A mix
Of joy and pain,
Plain as day
On the lines of pages.

Like a roller coaster,
Poems rise high
As the sunset
But soon sink low
Almost touching the ground.

But the thing about poems,
Is that they take any shape.
Sad
Happy
Painful
Pleasant.

It doesn’t matter
If you just wrote a mourning story,
You can still tell a tale of joy.

I have said that rhymes are liquid.
I wasn’t kidding.
Liquids take any shape and fit the container they are poured in.
And when they aren’t contained
They spill and spread everywhere.
Poetry does too.