Poetry
We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state,
we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art-
but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date,
oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart.

Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex,
of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind,
alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex,
is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined.

There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir,
now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination-
hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader,
who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation.

Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason-
we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome-
yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion,
from the eyes of the true daughter of Time, Science’s proficiency.

People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot-
well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild-
as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought,
startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia acts up- this is all rather mild-

Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip-
Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend,
Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip-
just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend.

Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon,
given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach.
Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on-
give it back in your own form of speech.

Through your own imagination feed poetry,
It hungers for your reality, though not reality-
procrastinate not- hopefully,
for your conceptions are your sanity.

Or rather is fancy your faculty- decide,
it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore.
It will excite-
whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor.

Poetry is not arduous -
just do not assume there is a secret door.
In fact poetry is quite virtuous-
Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.