I guess one more before I go on hiatus.

So. Poetry.
Little neat A's, E's and S's going from left to right.
It tilts, it slides, it runs across the page in a hectic frenzy.
Sometimes, it stops to take a breather, wobbling to and fro.
Poetry can cry, it can wail at the top of it's lungs.

The words easily jumble up, knotting themselves into intricate puzzles.
Black, red, white and blue. They can be so much more than a message sent
A simple form.

Poetry can laugh, waving it's arms about and smile like an infant.
It brings joy to the hearts that are down, grins slipping in place of frowns.

So. Poetry.