Poetry is Like Wonder in Sunday Clothes #amwriting #poem #writer #literature

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Poetry is Like Wonder in Sunday Clothes

I could never abandon Poetry
She was too generous a lover
An echo, asking a shadow to dance
She was never finished, only remixed
In my heart that is never finished

I am relived in other poets
The most misunderstood artist
Thoughts that breathe and words that burn

Time encapsulated in soul-lyrics
I could never put her down for long
I could never abandon Poetry on the street
Could you? She is part journey
Part of the suffering, the questions

That were once young, or always stay eternal
It’s impossible to extinguish her pleasure
She’s inadvisable to start, since you cannot leave

She’s the heroin of sound and measure
The suicide drug of the introverted
Poetry is more mysterious than finance
And to me, more necessary
I think Nature is the ultimate poet

The tunnel at the end of the light
A galactic center of beauty
At the source of all life

I could never abandon her myths
Her waves and the way she touches me
This genuine communication, this thrill
A simplicity of being, like the moon
She does not advertise anything

She has her moments, intervals of
Being misunderstood, truth in Sunday clothes for sure
The unedited escape of personality
Into the unknown, that’s poetry
The memory of enigma, the hour
Of when emotion transcended experience.