TREE OF POETRY
This poetry will be empty;
A sphere of possibilities
A receptive negative, before
The click of realisation.
The lightning tearing down
A human tree of nerves
THE POETRY EMPORIUM
At my store there's nothing
Visual, all is a-b-c-d-e, things
For the mind, a pulsing fork,
A super highway of words.
You must add instincts
Colour, 4 elements, a few clouds
To set your preferred scene - then
Just sit back, relax and dream.
If only poetry could be a living form - you would feel its touch and your skin would crawl. But then again - maybe poetry is more alive that way than many people out there who feel nothing, who turn everything into a meaningless farce.
Just wondering about poetry and people.