Perhaps it's fitting that seemingly no one likes poetry these days. The common response to the annual announcement of the commencement of a poetry unit is pure dread and groans often echo around the room. It's understandable; poetry requires decoding and effort. It's meaning isn't instant or definite like so many things are today. Poetry elicits emotion and deep thought processes about concepts that don't involve celebrity hook-ups and the latest version of Snapchat. It's beauty is understated and doesn't demand attention. The precise pinpointing of the exact, right words in the exact, right rhythm and rhyme is overrated and exceeds the character limit for comprehension. Poetry is a waste of time. If that's the case, what does that make the ever growing trends toward narcissistic social media updates and the constant need to post selfie after selfie? Surely, that is a quality way to spend one's time. But when it comes to poetry... #aintnobodygottimeforthat right? Poetry is everything that society is not and maybe, just maybe that's why I love and admire it so damn much. But at the exact same time, poetry surrounds us if one is willing to look hard enough.
In the modern world, everyone is fastened to the fast track with instant answers just beyond the screen of a computer and responses received within seconds of sending a message. Eyes are glued to cell phones and computer screens and TVs 24/7. All the knowledge in the world lies just beyond our fingertips. And as a result, we, as a species, have developed an extreme lack of patience. An extreme lack of willingness to devote time to deciphering and interpreting something as beautiful as literary expression. With so many synthetic and digitized conversations taking place, it's hard to determine true genuineness from empty words. The constant lack of authenticity seems to add to the fear of poetry because nothing seems to be more real, more genuine. More often than not, poetry comes from a place of pure emotion and drive and unfortunately, not many people are willing to experience it in that way because as a culture we have been programmed to be numb. To have faces made of stone and hearts made of steel. What a waste it is, not to feel.
It's now three in the morning and I've come to question what exactly I'm doing with my life. I've spent the last couple hours composing this post on and off frequently distracted by lingering thoughts and past memories. Is this conformity? Is this giving in to the system? I'd like to think not because the only other viable thing I'd be doing right now is sleeping, but sleep seems to come less and less lately. I thrive at night when the world is quiet and my thoughts are oh so loud. Expectations vanish and I am free to be exactly who I have chosen to be with no restrictions. There's something poetic about the stillness of night in a world that is always racing to the finish line. You see, what many fail to realize is that it's not about what place you finish, it's about the race that you ran and the athlete you have become along the way. After all, nothing awaits after the finish line is crossed. If we take a moment to be still, physically and mentally, we can appreciate and recognize how poetic our lives tend to be.
Both the most magnificent and minute events resonate with poetry. The way a tired person's lips kiss the rim of a coffee cup before the sun has cared to join them sings of poetry. A weathered hand brushing along the porcelain skin of a child that offers fresh eyes to this giving planet is simply lyrical. The sun and moon dancing as mirror images as the day and night collide embody a true masterpiece of emotion and experience that outshines even the most perfect string of words.
If people would take a moment to be aware, to be awake, they would come to the realization that this life is so much more than the devices we carry in our pockets or display proudly on our desks. The only thing we should be carrying is kindness in our hearts. Our displays should be of humility and love. Material items are soul suckers. I ask of you simply to unplug and detach from the illusion of interaction and participate wholeheartedly in the world that serves as your home. This life is beautiful. Take the time to decipher and interpret the poems that are constantly in your presence and along the way dare to write some of your own. This story is yours and if you chose for it to be one of beauty Poetry is Key.
