Poetry Is
Poetry Is….
Intangible.
Invisible chords rip through body, mind, and soul,
Gripping all that is substance within
And churning it,
Molding it into paper and pen.
Indelible.
Stains of blood-soaked ink splattered onto pages
The hurried marks of a novice.
Scratches on white,
The birthing of woman into Goddess.
Quintessential.
Shards of crystalline light pierce blackened veils,
Prisms of perfection.
Glittering glimpses of Utopia,
Nirvana remembered, the purity of connection.
Visceral.
Fragmented emotions stitched into metaphors.
Fibers of phrases wrenching
Alliteration from the heart.
Voices of silence breathing in, quenching.
Truth.
Bare-boned lyrics of the unbidden,
Undressing reticent screams
And exposing tight-lipped skeletons
Stripping jewels from the remains.
