Is It Poetry - Try To Understand

My thoughts run away to hide
seeing rocks I turn them over
to find pleasures discarded.

Sand untouched but by a breeze
rooms forever I hide in of them
waiting for you to show and speak.

Great is an ants queen workers
needs of the few having many
pleasure is an art never found.

Thinking on these words on all the pins
infinite are the pins words run out
ink can dry all the tears carried from.

Water can be hot the sun can be cold
pondering thoughts forgiving souls
blameless feet always marching on.

The burning mind is never without pain
the flesh is on fire like those in the forest
trees of the soul growing never sleeping.

Fumes of life bare the scent of greatness
humility fumbles at my feet never lost
wearing shoes of all those who came before.

Is It Poetry

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