Poetry
Poetry is philosophy treated so unlike philosophy
Once the discourse begins
There is no return to the conversation
Just an endless flitting to everything
I want to open words like arms
And go deep down between their legs
Until I am all quivered and done.
For what are we
But the countless, endless germination
Of words spoken
But I write them to create thoughts, not worlds.
O for a T. S. Eliot
To steal a thought and opened it like a flower
O for a W. B. Yeats
To write and write until the conversation has its power
O for minds like crows
That will not let the thing go
But flash it, shake it, shred it
Until it is only strands of meat between the teeth
Minds that will not yield but even in death
Conquers defeat.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
