Poetry is a coy mistress
She comes when you least expect her
And scorns you when you need her the most

Poetry is a slug from a 30.06
Or a lover's breath upon your cheek
It is all a man can hope for
And all a woman dares to dream

Poetry is a moment taken from a midnight hour
It is the wind sweeping across a sea of green
Or the fading sun setting on a restless ocean
It hides in the shadows like a whisper
Anxious to touch you with its blessing

Poetry is an unfinished cigarette
Or a peculiar look in a stranger's eye
It is the wind rattling upon your windowpane
Or the tear remaining steadfast in your eye

Receiving a poem is a blessed thing
It is a token of favour from the gods
It strikes you down as a thunderbolt would
Gives you wings and lets you fly
It is every minute of everyday
It is the love shared between two foreign creatures
And is the one thing that refuses to die

Poetry is a song that plays upon your lips
One that you sing when you think you are alone
It is a sublime note in a symphony of perfection
It is the smoke that directs you to a fire

Poetry is an incomplete imperfection
One that dazzles you with every flaw
It is one of the sweetest fruit

Catching a poem is a fortunate thing
For it is then that you know the joy a poem can bring.