We say things are like poetry.
The sun beckoning the day from night with a sky blooming rose,
Or looking into the eyes of the one we love.
And sometimes funerals are poetry,
Or else maybe goodbyes.
Poetry is beauty,
And also pain.
The feeling when life is so much it becomes a story,
an illusion played in colors bright and sounds too loud to bear.
It is too beautiful, terrible-
No, too pure to exist.
In those moments of reaching, feeling,
Exposed defenseless to this world,
Poetry is my armor, she guards me from despair.
Like poetry, I say,
When life is so full, so bright and unrelenting
I yearn to understand.
My heart is so full my lungs are crushed,
My mind cries out for air.
Poetry is my teacher,
She shows me how to breathe.