Poetry is the song of the spoken word
   gliding gleefully, playfully
      sliding smooth as the devil's tongue.

The true sound is not of a novel told
   in long form, in paragraph,
      broken to imitate a mold.

It speaks, it cries, it screams
   to be read, a melody as
      interpretation unfolds.

The flowery tale it need not contain
   but the rhyme must remain
      if only as a song unfurled.


* My attempt at a quaint and simple ode to John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn. A favorite poem of mine since high school. I wrote a paper on it in undergrad and found it again in graduate school. It likes to visit my mind when changes come to my life.

Read it here: Poetry Foundation, Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats