What is poetry some might ask?
It’s two robots, moving tapes in unison,
A dance where neither touches it’s partner.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s a lazy Saturday, nothing to do,
No concerns or regrets as time passes unnoticed.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s the moment just before dawn,
The sun still hiding but painting the sky with fire.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s the quiet of a forest meadow in spring,
Still but living, gentle but vivid, forgotten yet always remembered.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s a lover’s touch in the night barely felt,
The waves of knowing and being known through the lightest touch.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s the soft chill of the evening on a mountain pass,
The ground warm but the air with a gentle bite warning of the night cold.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s the almost memory of a dream just passed,
Fading in detail but the feeling that for an instant you knew contented joy.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s the last words of a beloved book,
The satisfaction of things concluded and the loss of all that’s done.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s a melody half remembered and half gone,
The knowledge and feeling of all the notes dancing and then resolved.

What is poetry some might ask?
It’s the pang of death and joy of birth,
All of life folded up and inward into one word.

What is poetry some might ask?
It is.

~What is Poetry? by Bethany Davis, November 8, 2015

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