The Puzzle

What is poetry you ask, with a look of wonder in your eye. I stop, think, and grab a hold of the lie. The lie that poetry is but couplets of rhymes. The lie that it's not used in modern times. Poetry is grand and brings thoughts to life. Becoming one with the page, as a husband to a wife. Letters and words that dance and swim across a page. Stories and feelings that never age. The rhythmic beauty I can't seem to deny. I get this inexplicable feeling and I don't know why. Reading words with such grace and poise, Playing with the meanings as if they were toys. Poetry has the power to send the mind astray To a marvelous world, far far away. Poetry to me is puzzle with missing pieces Always open-ended while the mystery increases.