To communicate, adept ones opt for speech or song;
spoken or written we agree that words can be wrong
but do their best at getting something off one's chest
and to fulfill this need for sharing, suppose poetry does it best
a lost language, an ancient art, as broken as it often seems
those potent fragments are more real than our dreams
Poetry is a proper form for composing Truth
and admittedly can be too long in the tooth
some of which is vague, blurry or abstract
But intend to recreate not fabricate fact
with daring ultra-sensory potentiality
limited only by your own sensual reality
Getting engaged is up to the reader willingly
one must be blindfolded but curiously led
down the aisle with what this has Poet said
remembering ahead this language is not dead
and you've already come this far without
getting lost, needing a map, having a doubt
about if what this Poet says is True
some words are inadequate, unable to translate,
or are simply made anew, and now able to state
Truth in words the carry their own weight
without making a sound when found and state
in a respectful dialect that may resound and resonate
in some way, a tingle or lingering thought when done
with a poem, a song lyric, jingle or rhyme,
it has spoken-not wasted your precious Time
a new language in you awoken
at least I hope you will see, and Trust in me,
to discover how pure Poetry Truly can be.
Image By Jusepe de Ribera (Spain, Valencia, Játiva, active Italy, Naples, 1591-1652) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, from LACMA, 'The Poet' 1620-1621-etching.
