That fleeting feeling Of laying on the ground Or looking in a lake Seeing your reflection Stare back at you The movement of dancing on your own A sundress hitting your knees Tying your shoelace for the first time Poetry is Crying in a mirror A dark gloomy sky- rain pouring heavy beauty terror living breathing thing. As all art It has no rhyme Almost rules But are made to be broken. mute sound. walking contradiction That's the beauty of it The only thing I know mine much as am poetry’s"