Poetry (Again, I Know)

This


sends ice down my spine,


makes me shiver


even in southern summers,


raises gooseflesh


all fire and smoke


wonder


at the intricate beauty of words.


This is precisely why


I love poetry so much.


It never fails to


destroy me.


That might sound like a bad thing,


but the destruction in itself is beauty,


The way a storm is beautiful.


The way panic is beautiful.


If not beautiful, captivating.


Captivating for no particular reason.


A dangerous beauty.


A chaotic beauty.


Electric skin and


burning bones,


Fire&ice&blood&flesh,


all dressed in the clothes


of words,


delicately carved


and spoken


with whispered promises.


The way it


rings true like nothing else,


beckons secrets out of souls,


spits them out like wildfire,


raging and pure.


Unchecked and free,


making us all


envy poems


at some point,


wishing we


could be


that kind of beautiful.
 

sharkcuddles

VT

15 years old