Thơ 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.