a defense for poetry

…admittedly an ironic defense, since it’s a poem, and it’s even one of those bothersome rhyming ones.
enjoy anyway.

You Tell Me Words Are Irrelevant

If I wrote my poetry
with different-colored pens
and showed you a bright world
through its many-prism’d lens

If I painted pictures
in verdant strokes of green
would the shining canvas tell you
of the wonders that I’d seen?

If I set my words to dancing
to the cadence on the page
would they step out in your spotlight
and dance upon the stage?

Perhaps I set a new score
brought old music from the dead
and let you reel in wonder
at the rhythms in your head

Would you understand much better
the language that I speak?
could I draw you meters closer
to the solution that you seek?

You would drink up stories
with a passion and a thirst
if you let your focus widen
and your empty bubbles burst

Do you need a math equation?
A geometric proof?
Must I write a formal charter
for you to see the truth?

We wield a power in our arts
whether compass, brush, or pen!
If I rocked the world with mine
would you believe me then?


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