Human beings love poetry. They don’t even know it sometimes… whether they’re the songs of Bono, or the songs of Justin Bieber… they’re listening to poetry.
Human beings love poetry. They don’t even know it sometimes… whether they’re the songs of Bono, or the songs of Justin Bieber… they’re listening to poetry.
I am a hidden meaning made to defy. The grasp of words, and walk away With free will and destiny. As living, revolutionary clay.
The poetry you read has been written for you, each of you – black, white, Hispanic, man, woman, gay, straight.
So sweet love seemed that April morn. When first we kissed beside the thorn, So strangely sweet, it was not strange We thought that love could never change.
That’s the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous.
When truth has no burning, then it is philosophy, when it gets burning from the heart, it becomes poetry.
The poet begins where the man ends. The man’s lot is to live his human life, the poet’s to invent what is nonexistent.
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