Poetry soothes me, at other times it moves me
They tell stories like books, plays and movies
It’s personal and public, some hate it, others love it
Some use it to manipulate like puppets on strings
Some sing, some talk, they can run or they can walk
Ink, lead, electric or chalk
From London to New York
It’s a sport and a hobby, or a life’s work
It can make you speculate on what life’s really worth
Painting pictures with scriptures of literature
Read it Monday but it takes till Sunday to hit ya
And make you wonder how could a poet write
So succinctly how I’ve felt my whole **** life
My troubles and strife, my happiness and joy
Look back just like I do when I was a boy
Put into words so well how my first kiss felt
Summer time 99, I remember how the air smelt
Fresh cut grass and baking tarmac
As I turned to walk away the girl I kissed pulled my arm back
She looked at me and said that roses are red
Violets are blue but she like tulips instead
Ever since then poetry’s been stuck in my head
Those words that she said
That’s why I touch paper with lead