A painting can really take us places, tug at the mood, make us think. A picture of course speaks a thousand words, and sight is the conveyor of most things.
A song can move us in ways we never thought expected. Open up canals in our mind we thought were closed for good, or that we were sure never existed.
A statue commands our attention, whether we wish to look or not, and when we do, it becomes a permanent fixture in our mind.
But a poem, we read it, and it either leaves its mark with us or not. If it does, it could be an epiphany, looking at something briefly through another pair of eyes, or even reliving a piece of someone else's life, however, it doesn't seem to last as long as a picture, or a tune, for some reason.
So what is it about poetry, which very few people that I know of even read anymore, and when they do, they don't have the same understanding of it as our fellow poets or poe tasters, and most who do have an understanding of it are usually lacking in any emotional depth. So why do we continue to pick up our pens, rather than a paint brush, or an instrument, or anything else that could fancy us just the same?
Tags: