The Yin and Yang of Poetry

I think poets are the reason for hell – Dante a perfect example; for we write ourselves in and out daily – a lifetime of times – it is the Yin and Yang of poetry; the creative pull between halves both opposites: the in and out of creation in constant flux of sentence and reprieve; the itch that can’t be reached for such rashes internal – an ache in the heart that can kill, confounding physicians having no prescribed remedy, each of us a pharmacy of self. Romantic verses infecting us all our waking and sleeping hours! Rusalka’s “Song To The Moon”; Vilia, the enchantress of the wood, falling victim to her own supernatural prowess. God and his angels, a juxtaposition of good and evil in the same mysterious body…. All of us young and old in a sea of small and large fish, caught, trapped and then circled by a fleet of hungry sharks. It is youth struggling to to break free, while the old man hanging on as blood runs till dry from his shredded palms. We are Ahab and his indestructible whale. Romeo and Juliet at the foot of the altar pleading a heart’s case though silent the statues, cold to the touch as all marble to the base of a goblet laced with poison. Passion is all this...and yet...we would write it no other way. Not us...though Omnipotent our pens.