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The Nature of Poetry

The way of words is something quite grand, only ever mastered by those quick by hand. They shape the times, the waves, the harmonies in ways actions find hard to express. The challenge of poetry, yes, provides that of focus and wit. It carries with it an air of sophistication and internal sounds. Words alone spand across the hours of work and lumber, and focused through poetry carry across the times of dark and light, of the classic and of the modern age. Poetry is where mere words make their mark, regardless of rhyme, for so long it hold harmony and movement so be it be what it will.

Ah, but the irony of words is that it isn't expected to speak for the emotions themselves. Words by themselves are not expected to carry all the weight of the world. With chaos comes action, which can speak a thousand single sounds with a swing of metal or with a scream of rage. Actions speak for themselves and are expected to act as such. And poetry, while still on paper, can act a thousand plays when preached out and stand the test of time. Actions shape the meanings, translate the message, and reach out where mere words may couldn't instill everlasting. All without rhyme, without speech. All regardless of conscious will.

Divided these can stand, but unified can word and action truly reveal the worth of life. Through song, through poetry, word and action can combine to rent a new lease on the emotions bottled inside. The words can carry the message across as the action demands attention and shows determination to the word. The audience feels the strike of the sword as well as the strike of the interior pains that define the strike. The care and tenderness of words translate the joys of life in the moment as the actions lift the new life to justify the tears. Forget the rhymes, for the speech and the act should be enough to express the true message behind the deed.

My words here weave in waves, sing in bells' ring, and show no restraint in letting it all slip away into you, my audience. I let logic dictate what my speech shall be, and I let the known actions I'm aware of to show the worth of act. Here my words beed not have such meaning or purpose lest you wish and seek it to be. I preach only that poetry, no matter the age, shall always be the highlight of literature and langauge. For without it, entire genres of story, art, and rhyme wouldn't be so. Edgar Allan Poe didn't invent the grimdark age alone and overnight, nor did Ray Bradbury express the charm of random titles twists of sci-fi and fantasmal dreams without consoling his inner child first. Let the ideas, old and new, shine whichever way falls into place best for them to glow. No need to stress which way the wind blows, for it is with divine reason for you to have received such thoughts and dreams.

This nonsensical style of letting words fall over themselves as the keyboard clicks under the tips of fingers and pens is of but controlled madness and rampant bliss. The spirit of poetry, in summary, will never quite die. Like that of the myth of phoenix come, it will burst into the flames of discrimination only to rise from the edge of floods to remind those of more contour that actions can only succeed if words are paired to match its fire. Poetry's emissaries have always come to meet the call, and so they will continue to do so so long as it makes its message clear; to inspire, to make a mark, to show no talent needed to make the words so long as the action comes in preparation. If thou needs to concentrate and compensate for lack of speech or lack of confidence, focus the energies and words into that and it will be done. If thou can't place a start or plan a finish, think and consider all options and be sure to rest should you feel drained. Such literary harmony isn't made with a swing of breath, only with a shot of adrenaline and energy. This is the nature of poetry, for it comes from the heart and mind as one in natural sync, no matter the reasons behind.

'Tis is my fantastical fantasy, and 'tis is your purest reality. Realize it, and claim the spoils of creativity. This my message to you, the dreamers, and best wishes to see thou higher than I. No easy way to end such jamble, but with a dot. Words carry grace, actions carry style, and poetry carries all the feeling. The dot may be my end this day, but you I know will carry on the will.

With love, you and all behind you. May thy words never cease to spill, and may your actions never cease to inspire. Again with love, the future you reap and sow.