Poetry, To Me (2)




What is it,

But a sequence of words

Tethered to bring about greater meaning?

What is poetry, but a portal into a world beyond human comprehension?

Each line inked cements its worth,

I graciously place one above the other

Like I’m creating an agate stone.

Wisdom embedded is re-current

Yet it goes unheard —

— Much like the b in subtle —

— Poetry sneaks up on you

With a message — an image,

That takes a moment to notice.

Much like the shape of this entire poem:

“Oh, look. A crooked home”


– O.D. ©2020


Art by:  AngelGanev  


Poetry, To Me (1)

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