Words, Words, Words.

This morning I heard that poems
must not talk about “joy” or “beauty”.
These words are too big,
their meaning too vague,
too much for a simple poem
to hope to contend with.

This poem is here to tell you
that words are stronger than that;
they can speak a silent thought,
describe an unseen feeling,
or amplify a sound
that was never heard.

A poem can fly through time
to take your hand,
explain the inner workings
of a subtle heart,
light up the familiar
and take you to forbidden places.

A poem can stroke the wing
of a wounded bird,
sprinkle fresh snow
across a winter morning,
wade through the mud of a battlefield
and take revenge with a glittering metaphor.

A poem is a surgical instrument,
honed to sharp perfection,
ready to dissect an unwilling world.
A poem has no limits
and accepts no condemnation.
It can do anything it likes.

Beware of poetry.
There is a reason why they burn books.

Poetry is strong enough to help.
Seamus Heaney.


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