Inspired by an assignment I had at the beginning of my fall semester on writing a letter to poetry.
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Poetry,
To me, you are almost akin to a femme fatale,
Almost, for you are
Art.
And not simply a creation of it.
You are a creation who is an unadaltered, untainted work of art.
A creation that many of us though,
Despise,
For me, and me alone possibly it is due to the pedestal you sit on,
It Is likened to the dignity and enormity of the Nobel.
Your creations, so short,
Provide the most direct and pronounced art,
An art made simply with words.
Words that have remained the same through time,
Whether it be an ancient Chinese haiku,
Or a Victorian sonnet.
Your creations
Sit on that same pedestal, grudgingly I say to the Nobel.
For a true work of art who's inspirations, are not motivated by the award,
But simply by their work,
For that is all poetry is to so many of us.
work.
But it is a work of love and a labor of blood, sweat, and tears.
For if even a single word,
if misplaced will collapse you
like a tower of cards blown by a gentle wind.
