Shaped Poem by Butch Decatoria

How do the blind among us seeing
Stoic eyes wide mimicking awakenings

How can poetry be greatly felt
With words to shape more words don't help

How water is the shape of love
That we drown in its deeps, our hollow rain.

Hence fire is the shape of pain
It's roaring loudly inside, outwardly howling

Heartbreak explosions concerning yowls
The sounds of our emblazoned lives

Thoughts: the shape of thunder, time,
Emotions made to blame, then shades of

How, we only but admire,
With words to shape the soul's attire.

We howling creatures brief
What is the shape of words, belief, in

The End?