The beauty of a poet

she spoke slowly in words measured

by the gauge of the things that she knew.

she held them up to the light

to see if they truly shined.

she was dazzled by the sparkle

of the words that came in song.

she could never truly tell

if she understood what they meant.

she tried her voice out many different ways.

tasting texture and tone.

she needed to see if she could recognize

them by name, passing over her lips.

she opened her mouth and they all fell out

spilling on to the floor.

puzzle pieces, rainbow splash

she had discovered a whole new world.

in perfect form, like poetry.

she began to tell her tale.

in metaphor, in simile,

in a style unlike anyone else.

she captured the imagination

she took her readers to a place.

where they could see the world

from her uniquely gifted eye.

she could pull your heartstrings slowly

or strike them like a chord.

causing a reaction

that could you shake you from within.

she is honest to a fault with words

yet with a poet’s gentle touch.

pretty words, telling painful tales

of growth and pain and life.

her voice rises and falls

changing pitch and tone.

the impact of the words

flexing their intensity.

listening to the texture

you can hear the subtle change.

the words again take on measured steps

and she is quiet once again.

silently I listen for words

that I hope will come again.

for the simple gift of reading and feeling

her beautifully woven tales.