“Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks.” ~Plutarch

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”        ~Robert Frost

“When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man’s concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.” ~JFK

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” ~Carl Sandburg


the words form from deepest thought,
those not yet voiced but needing acknowledgement,
theories from within—never formally taught,
soul’s introspection granting encouragement,

while the sword intimidates with destruction’s threat,
the quill creates a thinker’s path around resistance,
constructing abstract concepts, as to never forget,
a validation to know and share surreal substance,

nuanced creation—the tone, its rhythm and flow,
soul’s narrative as it subsumes a storyteller’s role,
every element intentional in how much it will show,
readers adopt parts their own, but few consume it whole,

a direct mystery be poetry’s paradox surely,
with poets conveying their counterfeit confessions,
thoughts never fully known, though felt most purely,
an ambiguous acceptance endorsing endless expression,

for words are able to walk where previously unable to tread,
when engendering emotions that speak what cannot be said…

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