Is not in the words chosen
Or the rhythm
Or metaphors
Or syllables
Or in the sounds
Of hands applauding
From behind the reader’s eyes
It is not even in the breath
That flows within the poet
As he breathes out the words
No, we cannot see for sure
for the beauty of a poem
He alone sees it
No one else can
And it has to be that way
For he who cannot see beauty
by himself
Cannot show the world