The Beauty Of Poetry

Poetry is the language of the soul,

Encrusted with sparkling, pure gold.

Sealing the thoughts of all those alive,

Concealing feelings of meanings so far and so wide.

Poetry courses through our veins,

Modestly taking no prize from whom it saves,

Every scar or bruise, every fragment of sense,

Lies engulfed in poetry’s bewildering essence.

Poetry possesses all inside you,

It drowns and confines you,

Forever it shall rule all man,

With its meaning too profound to understand.

Poetry lies in the enigmatic shadows,

Dancing through the night, prancing in meadows,

No fragment of matter can escape its power,

For its taste can be sweet, bitter or sour.

Poetry is the ballad of the heart,

Often breaking it into destitute little shards,

It is the light of the heavens and the fire of hell,

Enticing all God’s creation with the power it sells.

Poetry is the shining stars in the firmament,

Filling our minds with bliss and captivating every scent.

Misunderstood is this powerful blessing,

Taking us far away, to phenomenal settings.