The Physics of a Poem

Poetry, in its smallest form.

Born at the end of my pen


Onto white


When quietly I write.

And molecules take their seat

Where darkling peat

Is dipped

Is dipped, repeated on page:

Physics creaks.


And its wheels awake


It starts.


The machinery of stars, the whirring parts

Of emotion and of human hearts,





Commotion of protons,

The sweetness of strawberry tarts;

The worlds entire workings

Bled onto my page


For all of life is in poetry,

And all of poetry in art.

The End

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