We A r e What we R e a d 

15

We A r e What we R e a d

To some of us, failed writers
Poetry is the human heart beat of language
Something that vaguely “saved us”
At some point in our destiny

When we maybe had nowhere to turn
No one to see us through our ordeals
Poetry began the telling of all tales
It lived and breathed our history

It immortalized our most grandiose love-affairs
And insulated us from our tragedy
To some of us, word lovers
Poetry is the human heart

On a tree of life where each voice
Is a sacred leaf, each a note
In the immortal prayer of poetry
Back to the nature of language

Odes to evolution, mirrors of our neural states
There is a discourse in the wane of beauty
And when art dies, we lose a bit of our human spirit
And the memory of renaissance

And the reincarnation of golden ages
It’s a failure of society of literacy
That goes from books to computers to cell phones
Not really a cultural apocalypse

But a monopolization of the channels of content
The incorporation & assimilation of our attention
But who I am to say if we are literate
I don’t have time to read seriously
Only enough time to write moderately.

5 thoughts on “We A r e What we R e a d 

  1. If it were possible, I would give you a gift of many mysterious and beautiful substances with which to create a new world of poetry. Unlike paints and painting. Unlike notes of vibration and music. Unlike cheese and bread and wine, and dinner. Like wind made of the collected whispers of children on a snowy playground.
    Like starlight made into a liquid to be distilled and placed in packets of smelling salts.
    Like a paste made from a tulip plant that has agreed to give itself up for dessert.

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