What is poetry, really? Is it tossing random words around Like confetti in your mind And watching as they float lazily down To land on a page arranged in a strange sentence such as Variety paints secretly senile flora Which will forever be a conundrum To high school English students Assigned to write interpretative essays On such a profound statement? Or is poetry all rigidity and structure Where one must keep in step with iambic pentameter In order to grind out Petrachan sonnets with lines like The world is changing even as we speak And I believe the outlook is quite bleak Complete with requisite rhyme and perhaps a Sprinkling of spontaneous yet sparkling alliteration? -from Made for Eternity | Made for Eternity by Katie Marie Morrison, Paperback | Indigo Chapters