Ever walked along and suddenly a poem appears?
Or it rings quietly in ear while driving?
Before you can write it, its gone.
I can only wonder,
How long it must float
Till it finds another.
For whom can grasp it
capturing it into a page
To be released unto another.
Perhaps poetry is not an art
To be still enough to listen.
Bold enough to capture.
Strong enough to share.
Whatever poetry is,
I find it unearthly.
For it makes the hands tremble to write.
It leaves the soul naked
Yet it floats along through the air
Beckoning to be captured and shared
Binding the intended together
While leaving the rest confused.
I dont know about you, but poetry scares me.