Poetry is in essence right words in the right order but it shouldn't stop there
there's more infinitely more
distillation of the heart's deepest joys and sorrows
constellation of all that springs from and happens to the self in all its myriad manifestations and facets-- mysterious - multifold
for life is an endless roll of the self in motion and action-
self-searching self-evaluation self-conversation self-evolution self-determination (existentialistic recognition that life would inexorably end in extinction more despair and ennui than hope? that's the question to be addressed individually-- each life is sacred and its own and asserts its will to be before it sinks into oblivion)
poetry is also the articulation of the beyond-self the juxtaposition alongside others the intricate and delicate interplay of relationships the joys and angsts that follow
while time watches on and carries a whip 'hurry, hurry--I wait for none- presto!'
and destiny stares one in the face testing one's mettle and endurance at any time in any place
the poet writes: I am saved by words by words alone they are my salvation my one and only vessel which gives my life a ring-tone however faint and makes me aware I am still living
'de nihil, nihil fit' from nothing comes nothing either I am something or nothing- with myself I've to wrestle to deny that I am nothing
even if a pale shadow I'm still something I'd not forego my right to being someone in the making for life is living and experimenting over time a process of becoming
and at the end of things I'd know with every single feeling I've not failed myself in the task of living through the words of my poetry that have given me every meaning