The child

The child peeks,

The child dances,

The child throws some furtive glances,

Why hide,

When, inside, all the answers lie?

Why be shy,

When we all journey a lifetime outside?

Why not shine,

When you live every day, with your eyes wide?

Life Fluid

The emotions come,

They pulse through me,

Flowing from heart to paper,

Thought transforms to words,

The media doesn't matter,

It can't molest the method;

Passion pushes through perfectly,

Agony, angst, annoyance, adulation, all:

Phase like water into steam,

Dropping all dross.

Longing is not lost,

Nor lamentation, yea, all:

Equally egress as escaping egrets to words;

As a snapshot saves a picture,

So, poetry captures a moment of full Life,

Storing humanity, somehow,

In letters, held together,

With strategic spaces;

Painting into poetry:

A smile,

A love so deep,

A death-longing agony,

A life set ablaze by romance,

A loss so great words fail to hold in the pain.

Poetry is an art capable of circumspect life for those willing to listen.