Why, Poetry


Like a vintage letter,

so fragile to open,

I admire its beauty for what it brings.



I read the lines,

using my voice first,

getting the rhythm

and style mapped out.

After finishing,

I read it again,

instinct taking over,

“What was the Poet trying to say?”


Poetry written—

is a soul, encased in a locked box of words,

waiting to be seen

by those who understand




Like holding a butterfly,

I admire the seconds and minutes spent

with it and then release it back to the world.


Art Free Verse Unclassified Poetry

John Reyes View All →

"A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure." ~Charlie Chaplin

9 Comments Leave a comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: