It is...

Poetry is…

The bed where my thoughts are put to rest on milky white paper,

A place where my anger can hide and only harm the words used to express it,

The place where sadness and sorrow finally turn to happiness and joy.

It is the beginning of new chapters,

And the downfall of them.

It is a home away from home

On a planet where my thoughts thrive.

It is the cloud where my head is always stuck.

Poetry is a second life.