Breathing Underwater.

Everyone is drowning.

Each clawing at the nothingness of life,

Desperately struggling for a breath of air.

Everyone is sinking.

The surface is never in our grasp,

The water weighs down and pushes us deeper down.

Everyone is suffering.

Eyes wild with fear and frustration,

The darkness of uncertainty constantly searing unto your skin.

We can't breathe.

We can't breathe.

But we are alive.

Poetry.

Is like silk,

With a tinge of French or whatever that makes that language divinely sexy.

It is the imagination of a child,

Manifested in the form of an adults perspective.

Is saying simple things with many words,

A piece of art with many shades of one hue.

It is easy yet so intricate it is difficult to swallow,

Beautiful yet surreal and distasteful.

It is lightning that strikes the soul,

With thunder that screams meaning.

It's like singing but there is no rhythm,

A heartbeat that is soon going flat.

What is poetry?

This is.