Poetry

How would you discern, that I am a poet
How do I know, that I am one
I call myself one, but are you not
I call myself none, but are you not

Whom could you not, call a poet
And whom would you be, able to call a poet
For poetry is rhythm, it is in all of us
And poet is the one, with rhythm in his work

So not just in words, can poetry be written
It can be expressed, in every form and pattern
And just as our breath, like a swing comes and goes
So would our poetry, be it in word, or in deed

Hold not, to what you have
Attach not, to what you got
Let time choose, on what can now
Bend the string, in harmony true