Poetry?
Some might perceive it, just maybe
As strings of words that look good together
Or maybe, just maybe
A way to shush those voices inside their heads
As for some, though
Poetry is how the World sighs
How it tells about the storms that are to come
Or maybe, telling how its flowers wither after bloom
Telling the pain made everytime a crater formed on its surface
Perhaps, how it's choking every single day
Beseeching to all, the suffering it's going through
Poetry, is the sky itself
Where words are formed from clouds that are barely there
Or maybe, the ground itself
Where words are formed from each crater that was carved forcefully
Perhaps, poetry is the galaxy itself
Where words are formed from dying stars that blinked out of existence
Poetry are Words with a capital W
To some, it's their mantra to tell how the world spins
How Mother Earth is pulling the strings
How Father Sky is taking charge of things
How Grandpa Time cease to sing
#WorldPoetryDay
YOU ARE READING
Unfaithful
RandomFor a love that I wrote these poems; a love for myself, obviously. And you who reads. And specially for the 'you'.
