Thoughts without a purpose

Floating in my head

Get jumbled,

Crushed,

Confused,

and Rushed

With no way to slow them down 

 

Poetry is abstract, yet concrete

Organized, but unplanned

It is the rhythm of the heart

Written and spoken

Sung out from the mouth

And illustrated by the hand

 

Poetry is clarity

Abstract in meaning

Or perhaps precise

To each, a new picture is formed

Different than the last

 

Poetry is beauty

In the form of words

Carefully thought out

Or not thought out at all