Poetry is that number that you can’t dial
So sit back, relax, because it will take you a while
Music is the written words we are too afraid to speak
Poetry are the books on the top shelve we are too short too reach
It’s that class we can not teach
It’s the neighbor’s angry dog, hungry off its leash
It’s whatever you want it to be
From the house on the corner, or in the trees
It’s whatever you see it as
But when it blows your way, reach out and grab
It’s that special message that they send
It’s the colors that you blend
It’s hot, and it’s blazin’
It’s invisible inspiration
mariahspoetrypalace 