poetry

Someone once asked me whyBlah blahWhenYadda yaddaWhoSuch and such I never heard the syllablesFrom the fake questionsNever bothered to look for the breezeFrom the heat of their wordsOr even why their eyebrows raisedWhenever I never answered Because I always knewAs only you would tooThat the answers to most questionsThat ever meant anythingWas Poetry The reason why lines were drawnAnd words rhyme most of the timeWhy books were bindedBrail created for the blinded There’s this magic placeIn ones soul where the best written stanza go They danceAnd reminisceAbout plots and twistsOnly read aloud on given daysWhen the best rhythms are playedWhere pages are always crisp and cleanWhere words can just be This is where I always amWhy I am meWith whom I choose to read All of my answersFor youWill always be...  Poetry