Poetry Is A Kinetic Arrangement Of Static

I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No Beautiful Thing Lasts.

Revolt And Terror Pay A Price. Order And Law Have A Cost.

Poetry Is A Fresh Morning Spider-web Telling A Story Of Moonlit Hours Of Weaving And Waiting During A Night.

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write.

Where Was I Going? I Puzzled And Wondered About It Til I Actually Enjoyed The Puzzlement And Wondering.