Once upon a time
Up a Poet's spine
Stuck to ears a question fine
"How to turn into poetry soul mine?"
Be her for she is poetry
Be her oh a blooming tree
I write holding a mirror to her green
But don't be like her who doesn't believe she is straight out of my dream
Be her when she smiles
Be her as vibrant as northern lights
Be her just be her who is just right
Rhythm to it would be my heart as she is out of sight
Her anger as she tears
Her brave as she fears
Loving her stare, even her leers
Horripilating as my gaze to her steers
Here she makes me sing how she is
But poem is she, I vibrate only to her sound in my freeze
Please darling be so mean to touch my oh my hand begging your squeeze
Deem these eyes, unworthy still, reflect what they see
As her palm touches mine
Be me guessing a sign
Perhaps would be a poetry fine
Even if all you are is a sentence or one line
But dare be a Poem if you dare see the Poet's sin
Don't dare be a Poet there is no "win"
There is her, you, hope in an _ecstatic_ spin
And finally a million yarnballs of incomprehensible poems in a bin
~
Just a prompt i recieved a while back "How to turn into poetry". And what other answer is there but to be her?