Poetry seems to be...

The sweet, sour, smell of sad
that lingers down the hallway,
The pink, peaceful dawn that
descends upon the valley,
The ferns that shake with
hunger and quiver with fear,
The beauty of flame dancing angrily away
across an ice blue bay,
The safe peace of sunlight
mixed with precious shine from
the moon,
The unknown silver waves that hold
wonderful treasures,
The bumps and shove from
sadness as you reach for happiness so close
yet desperately far,
The way ripples fill the lake once
solid as a mirror,
The echoes that shower rain
across the canyon floor,
The gray whales song to the
light sea of blue softly rolling further,
The sea shells that hold jealousy
hold it like a treasure,
The wave that rushes to that shore
the wave of disappointment,
The feeling of relief like on
illness infecting your mind
THE...