Not a Poem

And this poem can't be finished,
because it ends where it starts.
And as it's just beginning is
exactly where it parts.
And when it's sad it's crying,
truly happy tears.
And when it's finally dying,
it's more alive than it's been in years.
And when the light is showing,
it's darker than the Earth.
And when it's finished caring,
is when it does give birth.
And when it tries to prepare,
it collapses to the ground.
And when it tries to be heard,
it doesn't make a sound.
And this poem can't be finished,
because it never really began.
Instead of sticking to the paper,
the words got up and ran.