It has to have rythm, it has to have rhyme
It must be in sync like a clock ticking time
It mostly is short, but at times it is long
At times it's called powerful, sometimes... not so strong
It is loneliness, fear, it is utter despair
There are days, that it shows, I just no longer care
It is hate and compassion and the things I dream of
It is friendship and faith and the greatness of love
It goes on, like the seasons, the sun and the tide
When it has to come out there is no place to hide
It is force, a compulsion and perhaps it is me
And I can not contain it, it is my poetry