When we laugh, thats poetry, and when I get that feeling, an emotion I cannot quite reciprocate, Oh, that is sweet, raw artistry. Isnβt this beautiful, Youβre falling into place right next to me. Non-Material, above picturesque! An emotion so robust, yet humble; Seen in a frame on a wall, or in sand along the shore, or in my notebook from which pages have been torn; my God, that is where poetry is born. Our fears are poetry, our peers, the influence. An Empirical, transcendental accumulation and a work in progress. Something a lens only tries to uphold, but cannot truly experience; that is poetry. It breathes along in time.