Poetry.
There is no friend so fickle.
No creature on earth more heartless.
No obsession as inexplicable.

Pick up a poem, and begin to read.
With no idea what to expect.
It could leave you in tatters or instill in you joy.
But most likely it’ll have no effect.

Most poems are forgotten,
Though some stand the test of time.
Their author's corpses have long since rotten.
Yet they are still recited. Line by line.

Regardless of what these poems do to you.
Once they have finally been fully perused,
Admired, discussed, analyzed, abhorred
Annotated, dissected, debated, explored
They are still exactly the same:
Indifferent to your pain.

A poem is nothing but ink on a page.
It is utterly devoid of life.
It is no more dynamic than a forgotten age
It cannot comprehend your strife.

A poem and a man are unequally yoked.
So do not throw away your heart.
Our hearts belong to each other and to God alone.
Let not the lifeless drive us apart.

Poetry can be a pleasant distraction
But it must never be anything more
Than a mirror that we use to improve ourselves,
Lest we forget what we are here for.