Poetry

She stands there
and speaks her share of words.
I do not understand what’s going on but her tongue drips out my heartaches,
I do not understand but it’s my life rolling out of her lips and I do not understand.
Her words create ripples down my spine and puncture through the skin,
her words make their way through me and a deep echo of resemblance grows out like the unwashed weed from my chest, they resonate with me like they were my lullaby since forever.
An inexplicable feeling gushes out of my pumping heart and she?
She just stands there and speaks her share of words.
Sometimes there are rhythmic reactions,
tingling my veins like they have all the answers that were being sought
and at times, there are free verses, exhilarating my soul, like burning volcanoes
churning my demons, swallowing my doubts, enlightening my soul,
I do not understand, but she just stands there
and speaks her share of words.

Isn’t this what poetry is? poetry-image

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