Poetry comes from a little spark
Words slowly light to full flame
Growing larger until a poem takes shape.
The flame will settle down
Words burn within at last
To last for all to read.
Poetry is also kneaded through it folds
Taking shape to different forms
To create a creation worth eating.
Each bite worth the words to hear
Rhyming and metaphors abound within
The nooks and crannies pack with lines abound.
Within my soul my poetry comes
Slowly one word; a phrase
Stirs me to write a poem.
I sometimes see a poem take shape
Lines forming weaving across my mind
That is when I write my poetry down.
April 28th prompt from this site http://www.napowrimo.net/