There exists a special type of insanity,
Only known to poets
And those who adore poetry.
It is something that cannot be explained
Or described, only experienced.
And those who experience it
Are never the same. They know
The burning need to write and read
And the comfort of finding yourself
In someone else's words.
This madness holds a hidden truth:
No one chooses this insanity.
Instead, it reaches out to those
Broken, disillusioned, embittered
And held captive, by life itself.
I do not ask you to pity the poets,
Or those captivated by poetry,
But the next time you see one
Ask them: Why do you love poetry?
And watch as their eyes light up.
The other day, I started talking about poetry and my friends couldn't understand why I loved it so much. That conversation led to this poem
