Is my perception of poetry jaded?
That I cannot truly see what lies beneath the words?
Is it that my emotions are so over powered by the form,
That I am blinded?
Is it what makes it so beautiful that it sears my soul with its white-hot touch?
But how does one perceive poetry?
At face value?
By layers?
-excavating what lies on the page until we unearth what we want?
Do we find only what we want to find?
Turning away to what the truth may be?
That it may be too much, too little, or even both?
That maybe what we believe in is lacking?
But you see,
Poetry never does that to one,
Allow them to find what they search for.
It gives everything or nothing at all.
Sometimes even both.
Leaving you worse off than you started
Or better off than you planned.
Never blame the poem,
The poor messenger,
But the poet.
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