Poetry contains few words but tells much. Its beauty is that by being condensed it is rich in meaning and open to various interpretations. Unlike prose, there is no boundary to poetry. There is nothing concrete or black and white. Poetry is mutable; it is transformative. Poetry is the alchemy of hearts. And what cannot be said in prose can sometimes be only said through poetry.
Her love of words is a private passion – one she would rather not share. In the house of her childhood though everything had to be shared. If she tried to hold anything back, they would search and find the hidden places. Her written words, discovered, read were just the source of more pain and punishment. This was why she loved poetry. They did not always understand it so they left it alone.
Nothing is inanimate; what is the rest is our interpretation.
He started writing poetry again, but it didn’t come as easily. It was hard now to get past the self-consciousness – the silliness, really – of being such a well-established adult applying himself, seriously, to such a youthful joy.
Words rich in meaning can be cheap in sound effects.
Love, the poet said, is woman’s whole existence.
If I began to draw
myself away from you
we’d still be like
two mixed colors of paint
impossible to separate.
Like a wildflower, poetry does not need explanation. It only needs to touch our emotions.
Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see is the truth, are my greatest fears.
Random thoughts that fly away.
Where words has no place to stay.
Let it be right where they are.
Let the work of art preserve its life.