Poetry to me? Hmm, lemme see
I’ve heard of Angelou, Poe, and Abani
But something strikes a cord
with a pen and bamboo tree
Transformed to ink and paper
That combination, it gets me.
It listens to my thoughts, my cries, and my praises
It listens to my joys, my insults, my crazes
It doesn’t question why, why not, or with who
Just accepts the stroke of berry
And goes the course that I choose
An “outlet” some would say,
To deal with ways of nature
I say it’s a passion
Regardless of good or bad behavior.
Exercising the brain,
Stretching one’s vernacular?
A Foolish thing to waste
A Foolish thing indeed! It’s spectacular.
Poetry to me? Hmm, lemme see…
Let’s call it a coping mechanism,
To get me through this degree.