Poetry doesn’t explain, but reveals. It wings the ordinary and roots the extraordinary.
Where prose reports, Poetry unveils. Where prose marches, Poetry dances. Where prose makes sense, Poetry makes more than sense.
Where prose proclaims the mystical to be ineffable, Poetry gives it a voice, daring to express the supposedly inexpressible, while providing its audience with hearing aids and front-row seats.
Poetry is aesthetically translated epiphany in verbal form. All we need to do is permit ourselves to see firsthand the dancing particles and pulsing fluidity in its crystallized presentations. The price of admission? A sense of wonder.
Poetry is more invitation than presentation.
Don’t touch Poetry with gloves; seize it, hold it close, smell and taste it, go skin-to-skin with it, squeeze into its silences, navigate and ride its waves, get intimate with its mystery, making room for some messiness and turbulence in your relationship with it. Get into it until it is no longer an it.
If Life could be said to be the Poetry of Being, and Art the Poetry of Creativity, and Music the Poetry of Sound, and Intimacy the Poetry of Relationship, and Beauty the Poetry of Revelation, then how can we live without Poetry?