Poetry is not hidden.
It is everywhere.
It dances with leaves in the wind.
It flies with every wing across the sky.
It boils in thunderclouds deep and dark as the sea.
It unfurls in a ray of sun slicing through the fog.
Poetry is not hidden.
We are blind.
It sings in a babies' cry becoming a toddler's laugh.
It cries in the howl and roar of rush hour traffic.
It screams the joy of flight in a seagulls' keen.
It whispers love in a mother's lullaby.
Poetry is not hidden.
We are deaf.
It swirls sweetly in the wine of a lover's kiss.
It stings the tongue tartly when truth is spit out.
It bites bitterly with the poison apple of betrayal.
It seasons speech with grace as with salt.
Poetry is not hidden.
We are tasteless.
It rubs softly when two souls connect.
It gropes roughly while treading an unknown pathway.
It chafes the mind with an idea that won't release it's grip.
It strokes the ego when other poets reply with delight.
Poetry is not hidden.
We are numb.
It rises in the fragrant steam of grandma's butter tarts.
It permeates emotions' sinuses with the vapours of hope.
It seeps the stench of corruption through cheap cologne.
It wafts the perfume of crushed petal on the abusers' heel.
Poetry is not hidden.
We are plugged up.
So take a soul cleansing breath,
reach out for truth,
savour life,
listen more than you speak,
open the eyes of your heart,
and Poetry will find you.
