She speaks in clouds,

her curves drink lost
words.

Her dress entrances.

This marketplace so full
of colour,

many fragrances merge.

I watch her dance with
gypsy jazz tones.

Olive skin and dark hair.

She beckons me forth, to
a flaming beauty.

With her clouds I
merge.

silent library
those unspoken words on shelves
I ache to voice them

They say that
Poetry is overrated

They say it’s nothing more
Than a string of letters
Simply arrange
To form a message

But they couldn’t be more
The sky away from the truth

Because for
Us poets
Poetry is a lot more
Than a string of  letters
It is
Our escape
Our reasons to be

It guides us to another world
To escape our painful reality

It is a place where blind men see
Little girls joyride on butterflies

It is a place that tailored
To all our needs

Where poor men strives
All  souls are equal
Humanity’s  at its best

It is a place that elevate
Us poets
When we’re feeling down
Feeling lost

It is indeed our savior
In these desolate darkness
Of our hearts

It takes away our pain
Our nightmares

Where
We rise
Through it
All
~~~