Poetry is like

A puzzle.

You never know

What comes out

Of your mind.

It is quaint,

It is queer,

It is yearning

To break free

From the soul,

The very soul,

Inside you.

The soul

Where all the life is.

It is up to us

To let it free.

So take some parchment,

Take a quill,

Dip it in the ink,

The very ink,

From which you will spill:

Your thoughts,

Your feelings,

Every fragment of notion,

Every particle of idea.

Let it travel.

Let it travel

And even you

Can write a poem

That will be seen

Throughout the centuries

To be forgotten-