In Essence

It’s a poem not a song

Just words.

Boring and long

But see that’s where you’re wrong

There’s a rhythm, a cadence

You can’t simply read along

There’s a flow

A moving tempo

It rises and falls

It spins and double backs

Twists on itself and warps

Until all that’s left is a misshaped metaphor

Floating softly in a pool of sunlight

It glows

Pulsing in the dusk with the beat of a thousand minds

Ever changing

Transcending

The stark flash of a camera going off

The distinct crash of a glass hitting the floor

It’s in the hissing of water held prisoner by pressure

The rustle of leaves tossed by the breeze

Poetry is music that we weave

Strung from vowels not strings

It’s a dance without the steps

A symphony of memories

Of impressions

Of dreams

And of lessons.