• Poetry,
    Flies from the fingertips,
    Only it will decide if it will stay on the wing,
    Soars through clouds when willing,
    Falls and burns through ignorance when not,
    Panic of the due date,
    Stills the mind with fear and hate,
    Hope fills you up when complete,
    With joy,
    Warmth,
    And love,
    Texture so hard to convey with words,
    Like dew on the grass of morn,
    Or
    Hate filled words when spoken rashly.
    One poem can bring volumes of life.