Hello Poetry, how things go for you today?
ready for thoughts that come your way?
expressions of pain and love and strife
that hurt and heal and cut like a knife.

Ready for confessions that say enough?
for the things of life that do get tough?
for the constant battle of passing days?
for those that leave and for those who stay?

The world's a stage as Shakespeare said
a famous line from one that's dead
the greatest writer you never did see
he was good for some, but not for me.

My best loved poet wrote of the north
into the snows,  he ventured forth
under the aurora  borealis he strode
in search of a good poem...not gold.

To each, his own, the saying goes
when a poem comes, it often flows
making the writer feel real good
but isn't that how, poetry should?