The Power of Poetry

I escape to poetry to keep things real.

I escape to poetry to keep things real or at least the echo of the idea that there is something more — something else. The problem is: what I escape with only adds another layer of meaning to “what is,” and while it’s distracting, it’s also a little tiring. That’s good, I suppose — it’s how I know I’m alive. It keeps me from thinking about how the real has been so hushed for days on end. Fear of losing is why I keep looking for it when I escape. Fear of losing the real is why my finger hovers over the button that sends my words out into space. It’s a small step from words to meaning. And from meaning back to the real. Tremor of the eyelids at an unapproachable dream. And I’ll stop talking in circles just as soon as I know what a process is. (Because if you already know what a circle is, then you don’t need to read this poem.) That’s the trouble with circles. They’re like poems without an end.

And here we are, the end. I wish it didn’t have to end this way, but we must’ve gone astray a long time ago. And so now it ends in tragedy- the heartache of knowing that what could be has been lost. However, the last thing that I want you to take away is just how beautiful words can be; they can carry us through even when all hope is lost and bring us back from the brink with a simple sentence.

Poetry is everywhere 💚 But the question is, how much do you love it?

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