What is a poem?
Well, a poem is a song.
What song?
A lullaby, and the lyrics are your dreams.
A poem is the river rushing, carrying thoughts and words.
A never ending sky, and the caw of a lonely bird.
Moonlight, starlight. A child's laugh, a grown man's tear.
Inspiration, Imagination.
But what makes a poem?
You.
The stars are reflected in the glimmer of the headlamp's light on the snow
And the air is frozen-- it feels like the sensation of holding your hand under water so burning hot that
it begins to feel cold
somehow.
A day as grey as
the clouds above it
And the hills, which have changed from green to orange to purple to a deepest blue in the fading light
with a few bursts of yellow from the beech trees, holding on in their marcescence
If life is full of the little things
like skating on smooth black ice and laughing with a friend
then I have nothing to look forward to
because there is good in every day.
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