Kites Fly Yellow in poetry............

What is poetry? Poetry is the memory, and recollections of thoughts, words never spoken out loud, whispers never heard. Shouts written out clearly for all to see. A stream of thought. A meteor shower in the mind that fall for all to see. Exposed to life in wonders and cheers. Contemplating. Sharing. Ecstatic. Pondering. An action taken to continue on a path of reflection. When one realizes that life is more that what is visible. When emotions have fall and rise.

And become someone else’s inspiration, when someone’s joy rises and is but mirror images of faith. It is white. A word that expresses the inner feelings and attempts to use words that others could understand. It’s the beating of the heart, or the numbness of the mind. To feel like the heart has melted or the mind is frozen in time. What is more than a word, it never ages in time. It is every season in the our mind. Leaf…..It’s the late nights that keep the mind awake, and aware of every surrounding. To notice something seen for years, and to say it is the most beautiful wonder of the mind. To express an emotion only you have felt, using words that you only have composed. Sweet.... An expression of love, fear, cheer, sadness, and joy. The roller coaster a heart undergoes, or the heart felt joy found in life’s intricate expressions. Caterpillar. The words, that capture a moment in time, a voice that only those who are lucky enough to hear will know. The chants, the chorus, the songs, the authority, the submission, the stands to fight for what is right. A hill of endless codes that only a few can decode. Purple. Where some have build walls to keep others out. To find that secrets could only be shared with metaphors or similes, when sounds can speak louder than words, which are left in silence. It is the travels, and wonders. Blue. Found. Flying it encompasses all aspects of the language. It is the voice that all could understand, the pictures that formulate friendships, that all could feel. It is the cat or the bird that never has been interviewed. The skies that never been studied. The missing clue to find a treasure, desperately wanting to be found. Stories that lure the heart to feel. Whatever emotion that might be. Green. Time. Brown. Time. It is the time spend sitting, in silence listening to a train pass by. A blur of faces that we encounter. Snail. The nothingness never understood. Hidden. The something only those that have felt desire to come near. It is the conversations that a stranger tells, life’s journeys no one has ever faced. It is something, to those that listen. It is unique. When it rhymes it creates an orchestra of music. Orange. When it fails to meet a formula it is a work of art. It will be forever analyzed a secret taken and it is never shared. Like hieroglyphs it is an eclipse. Look out the window, and tell me what you see? Sunlight. I see poetry in every sight, every angle to be analyzed has a moment in time it was shared, in conversations,  half a century or five, every thing has changed, everlasting, you are now there. Creating a new story, a recollection of someone else‘s thoughts. It is to write and not erase. Closely thought out, analyzed or simplified a forest of dreams. A definition of endless possible abstract concepts. The capturing and releasing of freedom. To be content among the living and awakening the sleeping and remind all that time is like yellow kites...fly......