Poetry Sings
When poetry is anger
It sings to me furiously
Like thunder clashing into the Earth
With vigorous authority
When poetry is comfort
It sings to me gently
Like a mother's touch
Soothing her child from an afflicting pain
When poetry is bitterness
It sings to me harshly
Like back stabbers leaving another
In the cold, because they can't handle the situation
When poetry is driven
It sings to me energetically
Like an underdog, whom start to finish
Strives itself to victory
When poetry is hate
It sings to me vengefully
Coming towards you like a nuclear missle
Intended to dispose of your existence
When poetry is love
It sings to me tenderly
As if an angel are tranqualizing my ears
With their divine voices
When poetry is vulgar
It sings to me villianously
As if I'm it's prize
For the obscene thoughts it deviously conjers up
When poetry is sultry
It sings to me passionately
Like an enticing hot and moist body
Engulfed with lust, provocatively captivating me
When poetry is fear
It sings to me timidly
Like an individual with anxiety towards a phobia
Prefering gone from their conscious
When poetry is courage
It sings to me bravely
Like a patriot who defends its rights
Against the tyrants of his/her nation
When poetry is frustration
It sings to me dissatisfied
Like someone continues to achive
While loved ones never pleased, believing they're inadequate
When poetry is awed
It sings to me speechlessly
Can't believe one's eyes, can't believe one's ears
Don't know what to concieve
When poetry is sadness
It sings to me tearfully
Like a lonesome soul alone with oneself
With no companionship found
When poetry is ecstastic
It sings to me enthusiatically
With overpowering joy and intense eagerness
That one gets when lively
When poetry is hidden
It sings to me quietly
Like governments top secrets
A plan to screw its nation for its own advantage
When poetry is openess
It sings to me loudly
Making public its soul
With intense noise revealing its dark mysteries
When poetry is offensive
It sings to me hideously
Listening to horrible sounds
Like fingernails slowly scrapping on a chalkboard
When poetry is knowledge
It sings to me wisely
Like information at your fingertips
Lodged in your photographic memory
poem by R.K. Cowles
Added by Poetry Lover
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