03 June 2010


where the weather changes unexpectedly
(be it refreshing or cruel)
there is poetry

the frame more or less remains the same but the insides change
they always, however, mean something to me
he is poetry

tender or cold; a forced connection is made
for me it is love, another unhope
she is poetry

that thing with which you're said to love
the one that daily beats: life won
it houses poetry

that feeling that you cannot grasp
yet still somehow manage to have
it comes from poetry

that thought not yet put into words
exemplified in the wind's rustle through the trees
it leads to poetry

infinate nothingness
minute something
everything that is, isn't, and will be
can be found in poetry

all those without
all that within
begins and ends in poetry

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