I
All good poetry must be read aloud;
Otherwise it resembles a body with its head bowed.
The words, symbols and rhyme schemes must come alive,
Otherwise, they die a natural death with no chance to survive.

II
When the poem lies lifeless in your head,
As though tucked away and forgotten under the bed,
The words echo soundlessly in the corners of the mind;
Destined never to echo into the ears of humankind.

III
With nothing audible, no breath, rhythm or sound,
The poem resembles a piece of driftwood run aground.
There is no repetition, alliteration, symbols or rhyme,
Nothing to infuse the poem with an audible enchanting chime.

IV
The words of a poem are like soaring sparrows;
They flitter and fly through the wind like arrows,
Filling the sails of the imagination with subtle invention,
That defies the basic principles of every earthly convention.

V
A poem is built from the building blocks of soul.
A careful reading can make a broken person whole.
Every feeling drawn from the depths of a well,
Of secrets and mysteries blessed by a sacred spell.

VI
When the poem is done, the poet breathes an ageless sigh,
Thanks to the inspiration that has come down from on high.
The great Sphinx could not solve the recurring mystery,
Why the kind Muse has served poets down through history.