Thursday, April 29, 2010

Hidden Child

Suitcase, black stilettos, crisp

Perfect posture stands

Holding an ice cream cone

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Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry