Poetry as Commonplace

A poem describing my feelings of modern poetry.

I hate poetry.

 

Always rhyming, timing, whining about loves lost and days gone by,

Like lost love letters too short to send,

But long enough to note,

Meant to wail about feelings lost or a love gained.

 

What’s the point?

 

Everybody loves drama,

Always watching, waiting, and wanting more,

More problems that aren’t theirs,

Pointless hours spent fretting over the latest celebrity break-up or the next brewing divorce. 

 

Using poetry to release their anxiety over endless problems,

Wasting away until they reduce their conscious mind to wax,

Walking corpses lurching from one juicy story to the next,

A shell of their former selves.

 

Poetry, once beautiful stanzas meant to be clutched close to the heart,

Tales of lost loves, lost lives, and long lost times,

Stowed away for rainy days and sorrowful times.

 

Emotions are sweet,

But the constant emotional wave experienced by the public drains the true meaning of these gems,

Creating a void to never be filled after years of being sucked dry.

 

I love poetry,

The spontaneously written verses,

The true gemstones that glitter in the cavernous heart,

Revealed to those who truly deserve it.

 

Precious gems for precious people.