Thơ Poetry

Poetry

What is poetry, my dear?
And in my soul every tear
Like the blood of the sea that surges and flutters on the shore
Like the Spring, swallows singing in the air here

Poetry is the tears of a pure soul
Knowing how to love humanity and hate the fierce war raging
Knowing what is the way to live a true human
So the dancing rhyme keeps singing
Poetry is the blood of loneliness, poverty, betrayal and mistreatment from others
It comes with magical hands, diamond feet, but a frail figure like a girl, not noices
It makes me fall in love with couples and love the world
There are beautiful skin tones, beautiful voices

Poetry is the sea, the mountains overlap
She’s like a cap
Like blue music on the top and overflowing everywhere
I smell the love of red roses here and there

Poetry is a sister’s Spring lips
It’s pure white every time a poet sips wine
It’s as pure as crystal and the soul flies
She’s mine, really mine

Poetry is the drunken moon and the shining sun
Always interested in world peace, fighting and doing
Even if a commoner or priest does not run
It is my responsibility to turn gunfire into passionate singing

Poetry is a flying white cloud and a clean dove
Not the eyes of owls or bats, or the flatter writers
She’s not even a glove
To cover the sore fingers

Poetry is the substance of the gods on earth
Looking for a creative creator with a heart
And I give her a proud birthday
It is poetry that will start.