Poetry can be butt-ugly.
It can shatter ideals,
squeeze your brain like a grape.
Lie in irregular 
stanzas
Like blood spurting from an artery.
Bring you downwards,
screaming
on a jerky roller coaster
and send you crashing
with a single
word.
Murder.

Or, it can play you a discordant tune,
And hand you a leading chord, unresolved-