Poetry

You are an open book,
made up, atoms and molecules
And yet a poetry, abstract
open to interpret, to speculate..

You are a perspective, fearless
stubborn, open to ridicule?
And yet a face, sprinkled with wrinkles,
soft smiles and eyes that crinkle..

You are thoughts, like tides
that ebb and rise
And yet you fit or maybe not
into words, onto lines
Like those pins to a magnet
So what if not, into a sonnet!