There is something about poetry.  It moves in waves
To the beat of its drum, in its own time and cadence.
A poem is a naked thing born of stripped bare bones,
We crave its touch as one craves a lover's.

The world might not hear anything like it for years
Until one day a reborn version will set it on fire.
Its layers add meaning to the meaning of the familiar.
Rich in its complexities it speaks to our souls,

Reaching for those moments no one else has touched.
It is like a love letter to our past that haunts us going into
The present.  It is a beacon of hope not until like a melody.
Words are gathered and then we pin them down to the page.

A poem is just a song stripped of its music.
If only I had another lifetime within this lifetime
The music and words would never stop.  And yet,
You cannot reach for and grasp a mist to save in a bottle,

But poetry can.