Poetry

Poetry is like wine – diverse and fine,
With hundreds of varieties that cater to different tastes in mind.
But only a discerning palate can truly define The nuances that make each verse sublime.

Some read with joy, while others despise.
The words on the page, a puzzling guise.
It all depends on the reader’s mind
To find the meaning, or leave it behind

Some get the picture, others create their own
Each is different from the original tone.
Some stories are similar, yet uniquely shown.
Interpreted by the reader’s own.

Some rhyme with a cadance, while others dance to a hidden melody.
Only the author hold the key to reality.
While the reader’s weave their own tale in secrecy.

Some can hear the cadence and follow along,
Others have the opinion there is something wrong.
This or that doesnt belong.
Only the creators vision cant be wrong.

One thing is for certain, poetry is art.
It transverses the crossroads between the brain and heart.
Where thoughts and emotions entwine never to part.

Poetry is an acquired taste to say the least
So if it is not your cup of tea
Gladly leave the rhyming to me
And let the wordssmith weave her sympathy.