If It Wasn't For Poetry

Things that I alone see would remain unseen by others. Things that move or touch me alone, none other would bother. Clouds with color and form, are not just a repository of water, but demand more than a stare and invite an inquiry further. Who would SEE our Master's painting if it wasn't for poetry? A vast domain in an opened canopy filled with awesome beauty and so often unobserved would go undetected of wondrous mystery. Who would otherwise reveal the workings of God's magnificent symphony? As I sat at the bedside of one who was ill terminally, a poem of comfort was born and given to the family. Who else would listen to the beats and tones long enough to hear the faraway sounds of the heavens or the whispers of the wind so near? Things, that I alone hear, would go unheard by unkeen and nonpoetic ears; Who would LISTEN and record orchestras of the universe if it wasn't for poetry? Some places, times, and seasons from long ago years; Things deep in the heart's core, that I alone feel, birthing tears; Emotional and hurtful memories; mental abuses locked in cells of fears. Who would FEEL the myriads of life's meaning if it wasn't for poetry? 120323PS