A Trip to Poetry

Ever been to a land of mystery
Where you feel the cold of snowy mountains
Or taste the grit of hot, blowing sand
With your arms taped to your chair
As you gaze at the sky with melancholy stares
At flying images of incongruity,
And a matrix of curious things?

Where rhymes are stored in drawers
And cabinets are marked, one beat,
Two beats, three beats, four?
Where your tears are mixed with laughter
And roads end without warning signs?
Where emotions and feelings are overwhelming
And though your spirit soars, sin wins?

Welcome to the titivating land of poetry,
Of clowns, clover, and clapboard houses,
Of people, planets, and probity,
Of beauty, balloons, and boils,
Of story strips of sentiment,
Where endless cycles of hopes and dreams
Are born to flourish, die, and be born again.