What Poetry Means To Me

WHAT POETRY MEANS TO ME

Rivulets of sweat wrenched out
through bottomless pores in skin
burnished white in the strife
that we might call life

Angry, hissing drops of rain
that frolic around bare ankles
as she raises her mouth in bliss
to the wonder of his kiss

A serenade that trickles its tepid
water into a dried, dusty oasis
doomed to oblivion before sung
like a love that died too young

Raindrops gliding down torsos
of living flesh and tanned bark
glint seductively in early dawn
as if to celebrate a new morn

Looking back on moments sublime
they came in all shapes, varying in time
a miasma of colour, some moving some still
what words can't capture, poetry will.

~Bittersweet~

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